


Tía Victoria one-shots

by EmonyDeborah



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, Confession, Death, Family, Feels, emotional breakdown, for some reason I'm proud of this, obviously, some fluff can you believe it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:00:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13960911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmonyDeborah/pseuds/EmonyDeborah
Summary: Welcome to the dumpster fire, children, I will be your guide.Alternate description: Angsty Victoria one-shots.





	1. Chapter 1

Despite what she knew others thought, Victoria was not an unfeeling pessimist. Cynical, blunt, and unwilling to suffer fools, of course. But she felt joy and sadness and pain and grief, the same as other people. She just didn't like to show it, preferring to keep her emotions hidden behind a stoic mask, only revealing her feelings to those she trusted beyond any doubt. It was somewhat odd, considering her family and who had raised her. Her Tia Rosita  _ never _ held her feelings back, and though Mama Imelda sometimes bottled up her emotions, they always burst out of her eventually. And her mama and papa and hermanita Elena always felt free to laugh and cry at the drop of a pin. 

But Victoria was different. She didn't  _ want _ to be, she just was. And she didn't know why, either. She knew she loved her family, but she found it difficult to say so. She knew her uncles were funny, but it took her a long time to allow herself to smile at their antics. And she knew she sometimes wished she wasn't the way she was; that she could be like her exuberant Tia Rosita, or her gentle mama, or even her explosive Mama Imelda. 

She had told her mama as such, long ago when she had been a child. She had been sick and bedridden, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. Everyone had been taking turns trying to cheer her up, but none of them had succeeded. Her papa had gotten very close, she had felt the smile twitching on her face and the laugh bubbling up in her throat, but an instinct she still hadn't understood had forced her to keep them hidden. Instead, she had stared up at him with large round eyes and sat up a little straighter. She had hoped he would understand that she wanted him to stay, and keep telling silly stories. But he had sighed, looking disheartened, and had stood up to leave. She had reached for his hand, silently asking him to stay, but he had only kissed her forehead and left to work in the shop. 

Victoria had looked at her mama, who had been sitting with her all day, and who was looking mildly disappointed. A small part of Victoria’s heart broke that her papa was sad and her mama was disappointed and it was all her fault. 

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she had said quietly. Her mama had frowned.

“For what, mija?” Victoria had looked down at her blanket, picking at a stray thread. 

“Papa’s sad,” she had said in a small voice, waiting for her mama to get angry. Objectively, she had known her mama would never be angry at her, not really, and especially not when she was sick, but somehow that had never seemed to matter for Victoria when it came to expecting the worst.

“Oh, Vicita, that's not your fault,” Mama had said in a soothing voice, gently settling Victoria back into her pillow. “He just wants you to get better soon, and he’s sad that you don't feel good.” Victoria had burrowed into her pillow and said something muffled and quiet.

“I can't hear you, mija.” Her mama's voice had been light and filled with gentle amusement.

“I did feel better. I wanted Papa to keep telling stories.” Suddenly, her eyes had been hot with tears, and she had squeezed them shut. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry I’m not like Elena and I don't laugh and everyone thinks I hate them-” 

“Victoria.” Victoria had immediately fallen silent, waiting, once again, for anger she knew wasn’t coming. She had been surprised, but knew she shouldn't have been, when instead her mama stood up and completely enveloped Victoria in her thin arms. She had stiffened, as she usually did when offered physical affection, but her mama had placed a gentle hand on the back of her head and guided her chin to her shoulder. Victoria had leaned into her very slightly, and found that it was very warm and comforting, to be held.

“None of us think you hate us, mija. But I will tell you what I know. I know that I love you. I know your papa loves you, and your hermanita loves you, and your Mama Imelda and Tia Rosita and Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe all love you, mijita. And we don't mind that you don't laugh or like to be hugged, because we know you love us, too.” As she had been speaking, Mama had started to draw back, but Victoria had tentatively reached up and wrapped her arms around her mama.

“I like being hugged, Mama,” she had said quietly. “I just don't know what to do. I don't want to do it wrong.” Her mama hadn't answered right away as she had tightened her arms around Victoria’s small body.

“This is just right, mija.” For the first time she could remember, Victoria had waited for her mama to let go, not wanting to do it herself.

“I love you, too, Mama. I know I love you. I’m sorry I don't tell you.” 

“Oh, Vicita. I know, too.” The doorknob had rattled then, and Victoria had slipped her arms back under her covers. Mama Imelda had entered, smiling warmly at Victoria and holding a steaming cup of tea. Victoria had accepted the glass with a quiet “gracias” and taken a small sip as Mama Imelda felt her forehead. 

“Ay, mijita, you’re burning up!” Victoria had looked up at her abuela fussing over her, concern and love in her eyes, and allowed a wide smile to spread across her face.

“I’m all right, Mama Imelda.” Mama Imelda had fallen silent, looking down at Victoria’s smile with wide eyes. Her hands had fluttered restlessly around Victoria’s blanket, she had looked flustered.

“Mama,” Victoria’s mama had quietly interjected. “Could you get Julio, por favor? Victoria wants him to tell more funny stories.” 

“Si, si,” Mama Imelda had said, and brushed a stray hair back behind Victoria’s ear before bustling out.

“Gracias, Mama,” Victoria had said as she took another sip of tea, and her mama had smiled.

That, of course, had been many decades ago. That one incident had not been the catalyst of Victoria becoming an openly emotional and trusting person, but afterwards, she had learned to let herself smile at her uncles, and hug her mama and papa before school. As she had grown, she had learned how to comfort her Tia Rosita when she was sad, and how to be intimidating when Elena started bringing boys home.

But she was still quiet and perhaps too observant, and rarely let her guard down in front of strangers. Her cynicism served her well, making her an excellent businesswoman and leader of the family during the short time between Mama Imelda’s death and her own, when Mama had been too heartbroken to take over, and all of Papa’s time was spent comforting her. Elena was raising her young family, and Tia Rosita and Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe found themselves floating in the wind, one of their strongest ties to the family having been cut. They all had needed someone to be strong, to bury their grief and be the anchor the family needed.

And so Victoria had. For two years, she kept the business running, kept her family working and distracted and kept her mother from retreating into herself even as her own walls came flying back up, a hundred times stronger than they had ever been.

In the end, bearing the heavy weight of a family left Victoria weak and vulnerable to one of the illnesses of her childhood. The sickness was sudden and fast acting, and she hid it as long as she could, pretending her gauntness, and peaked, pinched look were due to tiredness. One day, she had collapsed in the shop, and then she was gone, almost as suddenly as Mama Imelda had been after her heart attack.

For a moment, everything had been black, then there had been a ringing in her ears that grew so loud it was almost unbearable. Something large and warm had touched her face, and her eyes had snapped open to see a huge, technicolor cat, with large curled horns and wide, feathery wings. It had been looming over her, and it had backed away when it had seen she was awake, stabilizing her with its giant tail when she stood up with a stumble.

She later learned that Pepita was Mama Imelda’s alebrije, that she had sensed her death approaching and had been hanging around the house for days as a normal housecat. Only after she had died could Victoria see the spirit guide’s true form.

Pepita had led her away from her house, her wailing family, and her still, cold body, and over a bridge made of petals.

Mama Imelda had looked stricken when she saw Victoria coming up the road behind Pepita, before she had rushed out of her small workshop, and for the first time in two years, Victoria fell into the embrace she was offered, not even bothered by the loud  _ clack _ of Mama Imelda’s bones hitting her own.

“Oh, mijita preciosa, mi Vicita-” Victoria had let her grandmother fuss over her, relaxing into being cared for again, and not having to be the strongest anymore.

For more than forty years, Victoria had been working with her Mama Imelda in the Land of the Dead, and they had been joined by her Tios and Tia, and her papa, who had burst into tears upon seeing her for the first time. They had been happy, and Victoria had relished being a link in the chain again, instead of the glue holding them together.

Now, as she watched Mama Imelda sobbing on the ground, holding a tattered-looking skeleton close to her chest, Victoria wondered if she would have to be the glue again. No matter Mama Imelda's numerous rants over the years, it was obvious she still loved her husband, and unless Miguel got to Mama Coco in time, she was about to lose him again, this time forever. Victoria said a silent prayer that her mama would remember and would pass down Hector’s story.

Victoria was not a pessimist. She always hoped for the best, as she was hoping now.

But she rarely expected it. And she didn't expect it now. Hector’s body was racked with tremors, gold light was racing up and down his body like fireworks, and he was gasping for breath. Victoria turned away, as she had turned away when de la Cruz had thrown Miguel over the edge, not following the rest of her family as they had rushed forward. She hadn’t wanted to see her nephew's broken body, anymore than she wanted to see her abuela’s broken spirit when Hector faded away into dust.

And so, she mentally prepared herself to gather her family and get them home, to shoulder the responsibility of keeping them safe and happy once again for as long as she had to, as soon as Hector was gone. He could only have a few more seconds...

 


	2. Chapter 2

Victoria was nervous. She hovered behind the rest of her family as they watched Pepita lazily descend from the night sky with a small, pink figure clinging to her back.

Part of her was awestruck that Mama would have the courage to climb onto Pepita and let her fly her here. She herself had only followed Pepita from the Land of the Living, trying to touch her as little as possible and avoiding her sharp gaze.

But the rest of her was terrified. Would Mama be angry with her for keeping her illness a secret? For dying when the family had needed her? She had known she was sick, a late night secret visit to the doctor had confirmed it. She had also known there was a cure, that after months of treatment she could be healthy again, but she would have had to leave her family. And her family came before everything, even her own life. So she had stayed, unwilling to sacrifice a few months for the years after she should have had.

Her death had all but broken her mama, and Victoria knew it, and she feared her mama’s reaction to seeing her again.

She was distracted from her worries by an irritated  _ tsk _ .

“Si, Hector, it’s her,” Mama Imelda was saying, looking annoyed at her husband, who was jumping up and down next to her. Victoria started and clapped her hands over her ears as Hector shouted a loud, shrill grito into the sky. Mama Imelda only rolled her eyes, a fond smile growing on her face as Pepita landed on the other side of the courtyard.

“Mi familia!” Victoria almost broke down right there at hearing her mother’s voice so full of love and joy, and she looked down, glad that no one had noticed her trembling. Mama slid off of Pepita’s back, straight into Papa’s arms. He and Hector had dashed across the courtyard, leaving the rest of the family to follow at a more sedate pace. Hector gave them a moment, allowed Julio to kiss his wife again after so many years, but eventually he couldn't stand still any longer. He swept his daughter into an enormous hug, spinning her around and covering her face with kisses as the rest of the family watched with amusement and delight. Imelda stepped forward next, and Mama's face split into a wide and tearful smile.

“Mama,” she said, her voice cracking. Mama Imelda gathered Mama into her arms, far more gently than Papa or Hector had been able to manage. Victoria backed up slightly as her mama stepped forward to greet the rest of the family. Tio Oscar and Tio Felipe hugged her together, making her giggle and squirm right into Tia Rosita’s enthusiastic embrace.

“Mi hermanita!” Tia Rosita squealed, crushing Mama against her.

“Rosita! I’ve missed you, hermana. I’ve missed all of you,” Mama said, looking around and smiling at everyone. “But where is-Victoria?” Victoria winced, looking small. “What's wrong, mija?” Victoria opened her mouth, but only a choked cry came out as her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. Her family glanced to Mama Imelda, who shrugged and nodded to Mama, who was looking up at Victoria in confusion.

“Vicita?”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Victoria sobbed, pressing the heels of her palms to her eye sockets to keep the tears back. 

“Oh, mijita, it’s not your-”

“I knew, Mama, I knew I was d-dying. I knew there was a cure. I knew-I knew e-everything.” Complete silence met her confession, as her family stared at her, equally shocked by her tears as by her confession. She didn't want to look, but her eyes were drawn to her mother’s face. She looked as though she had been punched in the stomach.

“Why, mija?” Mama's voice cracked.

“Why didn't you tell us, Vicita?” Papa asked, sounding as broken as Mama looked. He tried to reach out and take her hand, but Victoria backed away.

“I couldn't-I didn't want-” Victoria was shaking violently, and her family slowly moved closer to her, concern in their faces even as they looked betrayed. “I would have had to go to a medical center in Mexico City, and we were already struggling, it would have left us bankrupt-”

“We would have managed,” Tio Oscar said, but Mama Imelda, who had been looking restless and angry, yanked off her boot and whacked him with it before he could continue.

“I couldn't leave,” Victoria said, her sobs finally quieting to hiccups. “I couldn't-it would have taken-I couldn't leave.” Understanding and heartbreak dawned on Mama's face, and Victoria looked down, unable to meet her eyes. Victoria was distantly aware that this was not how this reunion was supposed to go, that she had ruined it, made it all about her… 

She tried to rein in the tears, to still her trembling body as tears started dripping down Mama's face.

“I’m sorry, Victoria. You shouldn't have had to bear so much responsibility, if I had-”

“No.” Mama fell silent, and Tia Rosita stifled a sob as she understood as well. “It was my choice, Mama. I had to be there, I had to be strong for the family.” Victoria knew when the others understood, she could almost see the lightbulbs going off over their heads. Even Hector, after a short, whispered conversation with Mama Imelda, seemed to get it.

Victoria fidgeted a little and swallowed, uncomfortable with all the stares. Tia Rosita noticed, and stepped forward before Victoria could duck away and hide. She pulled Victoria down into a bone-crushing hug, sniffling as she did so.

“I’m sorry, sobrinita. I’m sorry we made you think you had to die for us.” Mama Imelda gasped and started to cry, and Victoria’s tios darted forward to join the hug, wrapping her in their long arms.

Victoria couldn't accept this, they thought it was their fault, they were hugging her, they should be angry-

“Let me-” Victoria stiffened, and the others let go at Mama's half-articulated request. “Victoria.” Mama opened her arms. Victoria hesitated, torn between two of her oldest instincts. Part of her wanted to shy away, for her family to scream and be angry, but another part wanted to fall into her mama's arms, to let herself be comforted.

She couldn't move. The battle within her was so fierce, she couldn't even take a step forward. She glanced over the devastation on everyone’s faces on what was supposed to be a happy day. With a strangled cry, her muscles unfroze, and she ran forward, past her mama and papa, past her tios and tia and Mama Imelda, into the house and up the stairs.

She shouldn't have told them, she thought as she collapsed onto her bed. She had kept her secret for forty-five years, but seeing her mama smiling up at her, reaching to embrace her, she hadn't been able to keep it in. Someone knocked on the door, and Victoria sat up, wondering who had run after her to have gotten there so fast. “Victoria!”

“Come in, Mama Imelda.” The words had hardly left her mouth before the door flew open and Mama Imelda barreled into the room, boot in hand.

“Mija, why did you never tell me? Or your papa? Or Tia Rosita? Why did you tell no one?” Victoria opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Mama Imelda seemed to deflate. “Vicita…” 

“I’m sorry, Mama Imelda.” Mama Imelda started to protest, but Victoria ignored her. “When you died, someone had to be strong. Someone had to always be there. I _couldn't_ _leave._ ” Mama Imelda looked at her for a minute, for once seeming to be lost for words. She slipped her boot back onto her foot and sighed.

“Well, what are we supposed to do now that we know, mija?” 

“I never meant to tell anyone. Ever.” Mama Imelda blinked.

“Not even Elena?” Mama Imelda walked further into the room, and Victoria shifted slightly on her bed, giving her room to sit down.

“Especially not Elena. I dumped the business in her lap without warning, hoping she’d be able to handle it better than I could. My weakness took over her life, changing it forever.” Mama Imelda hesitated again as she sat down, surprised at how effectively Victoria was explaining herself. She must have given this a lot of thought over the years.

“Is that what it was like when I died?” she asked gently. Victoria’s eyes flicked up at her.

“It was far worse, Mama Imelda. The months after your death were like something out of a horror novel.” Imelda flinched, and Victoria shut her mouth and looked down again.

“That must have been difficult, nieta.” Mama Imelda’s voice was soft. Victoria didn't answer. “Your mama wants to see you. Even,” she said as Victoria opened her mouth, “if you don't want to talk about it.” Victoria didn't say anything, but after a moment she stood up and straightened her skirt. Mama Imelda smiled, and led her out of the room.

The others were in the living room, the only place besides the dining room they could all fit comfortably. Mama was sitting between Hector and Papa, who each had an arm around her. Tia Rosita was the first to see Victoria poke her head around the corner after Imelda strode in, and her hastily stifled gasp alerted the rest of the family. They all stayed seated, not wanting to crowd her, and watched as she perched on the edge of her favorite chair.

After a moment, she cleared her throat and asked, “Was it peaceful, Mama?” Her mama stopped in the middle of opening her mouth to say something, probably to ask about her illness, but she looked confused at Victoria’s question. “Your passing.” Mama closed her mouth and took a deep breath, obviously fighting to keep her questions back.

“Si. I was in my home with my family, Miguel was playing my song, it was very peaceful.” Everyone breathed a short sigh of relief, momentarily distracted.

“How was everyone, mija? How was the business?” Mama Imelda asked, and Victoria silently thanked her.

“The business is doing well, Mama, Elena and Franco are thinking of expanding the workshop, and maybe making dancing shoes again.” Mama froze, glancing up at Mama Imelda for her reaction. She relaxed and her face split into a wide grin when Mama Imelda nodded encouragingly. “And the family is doing well, little Socorro is growing so big-” She was stopped by a collective gasp, and looked around at her family in confusion.

“Who had a baby?” Tia Rosita squealed.

“Luisa, Miguel’s mama. She was pregnant during the last Dia de los Muertos, didn't you see?” 

“No, mija, last Dia de los Muertos was a bit… hectic. Did Miguel not tell you?” Mama's eyes widened as she remembered.

“Si, he did. I remember now. I remember everything.” Victoria smiled slightly. She had seen her mother’s deterioration, her memory loss. She was glad death had relieved her of her dementia. “Oh, but I have to tell you! Enrique said they named her after every leader of the family. Her full name is Socorro Imelda Victoria Elena Rivera.” There was a beat of silence.

“Wow, that's a-”

“-long name for a-”

“-tiny baby.” Victoria was normally annoyed when her uncles started finishing each other’s sentences, but at the moment she was grateful for it. She didn't know what to think or how to react.

Her nephew, and, by extension, her entire living family, thought she had been a leader equal to Elena? To  _ Mama Imelda? _ But she had failed, the family had come very close to falling apart under her leadership, it had only really begun to heal after her death, which was the only similarity between her time as head of the family and Mama Imelda’s; they had both ended suddenly.

“Si, they weren't going to name her that originally. Luisa told me they had almost settled on Socorro Victoria, but Miguel had begged them to give her as many names as possible, so one day she would ask, and he could pass down our stories. It seems to have become a real fear of his, that any of us could be forgotten soon.” Hector and Mama Imelda shared a glance as the rest of the family chuckled.

“What did Elena think of that?” Victoria asked. Her sister had clearly given her permission for the name, nothing in the Rivera household was done without Elena’s permission, but whether she truly approved was another matter. But she had allowed it, she had allowed Victoria to be counted among the family's leaders, which seemed to completely disprove Victoria’s hidden fears that Elena was ashamed of her. Mama gave her a searching look before she answered, sensing a double meaning behind her question.

“She was happy, she was proud.” Mama smiled. “She kissed Enrique like he was a little boy. Oh, you should have seen Luisa laughing.” Mama giggled at the memory, and Victoria’s mouth twitched up at the corners as she imagined Elena pulling her tall, grown son down to her and kissing him all over his face. She hoped someone had taken a picture she could see next Dia de los Muertos. 

No one spoke for a second too long. Mama shifted in her seat, trying not to send Victoria a pleading glance. Victoria saw when her resolve failed, and hurried to speak before Mama could start asking questions, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation.

“I’m happy to see you, Mama. We’ve all been waiting a long time.” Her mama didn't seem to know what to do with that, and was only further flustered by Victoria’s next, quiet and barely discernible, words. “Te amo, Mama.”

Socorro Rivera knew her daughter, knew how her mind worked, always jumping to the worst conclusion. So she knew that if she didn't swallow her questions and return the words, it would be like confirming her daughter's worst fears, and it would send her deep into herself where she couldn't be reached. The words came naturally, anyway.

“Te amo, Victoria.” To Coco, the relief in Victoria’s eyes was almost painful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion? Who needs that? Thanks for reading, please leave a comment.  
> P.S.: Someone please tell me if Vicita means something foul


	3. Chapter 3

“Socorro? What are you doing in here?” Little Coco didn't turn at her tia’s voice, instead pointing up at one of the old pictures on the ofrenda.

“Do you remember Tia Victoria, Tia Gloria?” She didn't look away from the picture as she heard her tia walk up next to her.

She had always been fascinated by her ancestors, she was named for several of them, after all, and her family had always been eager to indulge her thirst for stories about her namesakes. For as long as she could remember, she had been told the story of how Mama Imelda started the family business when her husband disappeared. And her brother, Miguel, told her stories about Mama Coco all the time, about how she would sing to him when he was a baby, about her kind smile and how he used to tell her everything. And she knew her Abuelita Elena, who always had a word to say about her childhood whenever asked.

But the last ancestor she was named after, Abuelita’s sister Victoria, was the most mysterious namesake, with the least stories. She had asked Miguel, and he had said she was a smart lady who had led their family after Mama Imelda died, but he had little else to say about her. Her papa hadn’t been born when Tia Victoria had died, and when she had asked her Abuelita, she had looked sad and told her to do her chores.

But Tia Gloria smiled and nodded a little at the question, running a hand over Little Coco’s hair as she said, “Si, I remember her.” Little Coco's face spread into a wide smile as she finally looked away from the picture and up at her tia. 

“What was she like? Miguel said she was smart.” 

“Oh, si, I used to wish that someday I would be as smart as Tia Victoria.” Little Coco dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and resting her chin in her hands. Tia Gloria laughed and sat down in front of her, recognizing her sobrina’s story pose. “I remember she used to work very late all the time, but she was always the first to get up in the morning. And she never yelled when she was angry, but she could be pretty scary sometimes.” Tia Gloria didn’t look scared, though, she smiled at the memory. “I remember…” Little Coco smiled and sat up at the mist clouding her tia’s eyes. She knew this face, everyone made it when the really good memories started to come. “When I was very little, Tia Victoria would let me sit on her lap, and she would read to me. She never read me baby books, though, like I used to read to you. She would read me a chapter from whatever book she was reading, and sometimes it wouldn’t make sense because she was in the middle. But sometimes, I would manage to time it so that I heard the beginning of the story. And then she would never read the rest of the book without me, she would always wait.”

“What kind of books did you read?” At six years old, Little Coco had a gift for keeping people in the past, in their memories, she knew when to ask questions and when to keep silent. Tia Gloria laughed, the mist still swirling in her eyes and the nostalgic look still on her face.

“All kinds of books. Fantasies, romances, tragedies, once she read me a book about how planes stay up. Tia Victoria liked to read anything. Except,” she said after a moment of thought, “Shakespeare. I was too little to know who that was, but I remember she told me she hated his plays.”

“Why?”

“Because everyone is so tonto y estupido in his plays, and Tia Victoria didn’t like when people were like that.” Little Coco didn’t know who Shakespeare was, either, but she was grateful for the memory anyway. As she looked up at her tia, she saw her eyes darkening, saw her turning from reliving good memories to painful ones, and she hesitated until just the right moment.

“How did she die?” Tia Gloria’s breath hitched, just a little, but not enough to snap her out of her trance.

“I don’t know.” Tia Gloria blinked, and her eyes cleared. Little Coco sighed, the spell was broken.

“What do you mean? Did Abuelita never tell you?”

“No, it’s not that, Coco. I don’t know how she died. One day she just… did. One minute she was walking to the door, and the next-” She shook herself. “But you’re too young for that story.” Little Coco pouted, but her tia stood up and brushed off her pants, and she knew storytime was over.

Unseen by either of them, another figure rose from the floor, grateful that Gloria hadn’t gone on any further. Victoria looked down at Little Coco as she stood up and turned back to the photos, before leaning her elbows on the table and staring up at her departed family.

“Hola, Tia,” she said suddenly, and Victoria jumped. There was no one at the door, but Victoria relaxed slightly when she realized Little Coco was talking to a picture, and not a ghost that, according to all natural laws, she shouldn’t be able to see. She leaned around her niece to see which picture she was talking to, and was surprised to see it was her own. “I’m Socorro, but I think you know that.” Victoria smiled. “I don’t know a lot of stories about you, but Tia Gloria just told me a nice one. Do you remember when you would read to her when she was little?” Little Coco continued on to retell the story that Victoria had just heard, but she stayed to listen anyway. 

She was surprised that Gloria had remembered that much about her, and a little saddened at what was apparently her last memory of her. She winced at the reminder that her six-year-old niece, who had only been in the workshop to say goodbye to her family before school, had seen her collapse on the day of her death. It was one of her worst regrets. Over the decades, she had often wished that, if she had had to die that day, it could have waited just a few more minutes. But no matter, she thought, shaking the thought from her mind. It was over, she was dead. There was no point in dwelling on a past she couldn’t change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think about ages and years too hard, it works. Just roll with it.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

Miguel ran through the closest door he could find and locked it behind him. He heard his family following him, and then pounding on the door. Someone shouted for a key, so Miguel quickly took stock of the room, finding that the window was too small for him to climb through. There were a few boxes on the ground, and an experimental push found that two of them were rather heavy. As quickly as he could, he pushed them against the door and wiped his brow when they were in place. His family tried the door, he heard his papa cursing when it didn't open, and-what was that? Was someone  _ crying?  _ He rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut.

He hadn't expected a great reaction to his announcement, but this was ridiculous. He was only going to be gone for a couple months, just a quick tour through a few cities, to get a feel for what it really meant to be in the music industry, and maybe find some inspiration for some new songs. He was set on sending home almost all of whatever money he made, only keeping enough to live, and that was almost as good as helping in the shop now that Rosa and Abel had to cut back on their work hours. Miguel scowled at the thought, his mood immediately soured. Just because Rosa was pregnant and Abel’s wife was sick, they couldn't work anymore. And his family called  _ him _ lazy! Just for being who he was, for wanting to do what he loved. ‘The music  _ is  _ me!’ he had said, feeling an odd sense of deja vu but brushing it off. They had always known he wanted to be a musician, at least they had for the past seven years, they had to have been expecting this. And yet, here he was, trapped in-

Wait. 

He hadn't really paid attention to what room he was in, but looking around, he didn't recognize it. There was only one room in the whole house he had never been in, and he gulped when he realized.

This was Tia Victoria’s room.

And he was in deep trouble.

Maybe he should get out now before his family realized the importance of where he was, but opening the door now would only lead to a confrontation in this room. He would have to wait, at least until he could slip out of the room unnoticed.

He looked around again, this time noticing the full bookshelf and the picture on the bedside table. He walked over and picked it up, ignoring his papa’s demands that he open the door. It was a picture of two children, and Miguel almost dropped it when he realized it was his Abuelita and her sister. Abuelita was waving at the camera, her mouth spread in a wide, cheesy smile. Tia Victoria was looking more sedate, she was standing straight with her arms at her sides, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. The two children were holding hands.

Miguel smiled and put the picture down, before taking a moment to rifle through a few drawers with interest. From his earliest childhood, he had never been allowed to even look in this room, and only Abuelita ever went inside, to change the sheets and dust the furniture. When he had been small, Miguel remembered asking his papa why Abuelita was cleaning this room even though no one lived in it.

“That's Tia Victoria’s room. She isn't here anymore, but Abuelita misses her, so she cleans her room for her sometimes.” That was the only explanation he had ever gotten.

But he was already in for it, why not take a look around?

There was a small desk in the corner, and Miguel sent a cursory glance over some of the papers on it before opening one of the drawers. He raised his eyebrows, intrigued. There was a small book inside, it looked like a journal. He flipped through a few pages before snapping it shut.

He shouldn't. Abuelita would be angry.  _ Tia Victoria _ would be angry.

He shrugged, and pulled the book out of the drawer. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. 

It was only half-full, and Miguel flipped through a few of the older entries, snickering at a sentence about his tia when she was three, before something caught his eye.

_ Mama Imelda died today. _ Miguel stared at the words, his light mood having vanished. They were very straight, very even. There was nothing else on the page. The next entry was dated two days after, it was the first time she had skipped a day in the whole journal.

_ I have taken over the business. It should be Mama, but she hasn't spoken or left her room in two days. _

The next two years were filled with similar entries, all barely two sentences long. Before Mama Imelda had died, they had been at least half a page, and they hadn't always been about business. But in the later entries, gone were the mentions of her niece, or her sister. They were all,  _ We’re running low on leather,  _ and,  _ We broke even this month,  _ and,  _ The doctor said- _ Miguel almost dropped the book. His mouth fell open at the next words, which were as straight and even as the others before them.  _ The doctor said I have two weeks, unless I begin treatment immediately. I am going to stay here, I cannot go to Mexico City. _ For the first time in several pages, there was a third sentence.  _ I will not tell Elena. _ Miguel squinted, sure that his eyes were deceiving him. But there it was, for the first time, the tiniest waver in the capital ‘E' of his abuelita’s name.

For the next two weeks, the emotions expressed varied widely, though the handwriting never wavered again. She started out sure of herself:  _ No one can know. I cannot leave the family.  _ But after a week, it seemed to Miguel that her resolve was weakening.  _ Mama knows something is wrong. Perhaps it would be better if I told her. _ Towards the end of the second week, she finally explained why she didn't want treatment. It was the longest entry in two years.

_ I must be strong for the family as long as I can. When I am gone, someone else will be strong, but if I am weak, the family will have no one. _

_ Elena had her baby today. His name is Alberto. Gloria came with me to pick up some shoelaces while Elena was in labor. I got her ice cream. I haven't given her anything since Mama Imelda died. _

_ I wish I could tell my family I love them. I wish they could understand. I wish I could read to Gloria again. _ The next line was crossed out, but Miguel managed to make it out.  _ I wish I wasn't dying. _

_ The family will survive. They survived Mama Imelda’s death, they will survive mine. They would not survive if I was weak, and far away. _

_ I will write more in the morning.  _ Miguel turned the page slowly, not sure if he wanted to read what she had written on the last day of her life. He let go of the page, almost ready to snap the book shut, but he had turned the page just far enough. It fell. There was only one sentence.

_ I wish I didn't have to leave them. _

There were no more entries after that.

Slowly, he became aware that his breathing had become shallow and rapid. What was he thinking? How could he even contemplate leaving his family when they needed him? Tia Victoria had  _ died _ to not abandon them, and here he was, ready to skip town without a care. They had  _ raised _ him, they were  _ part _ of him, just as much as music was.  _ ‘The music  _ is  _ me!’  _ His own words rang in his ears, and with a shudder he remembered where he had heard them: an old de la Cruz movie.

He snapped the journal shut and dropped it into its drawer. The boxes in front of the door felt like they weighed nothing as he shoved them out of the way and ran out of the room.

He had to see his sister, had to hug his abuelita, had to tell his father he was proud to be a Rivera and apologize to his mama for worrying her, for making her cry.

The first person he saw was Tia Gloria, and he pulled her into the tightest hug he could manage.

“She had to leave,” he said as she gasped for breath. “I don't.”

“Miguel-what-” But he was already sprinting away to fulfill his tia’s last wish: to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was melodramatic.   
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	5. Chapter 5

“Franco, are those the Santiago shoes?” Franco paused in the middle of pulling his needle through the sole of the shoe he was working on. He looked up at his sister-in-law, who raised her eyebrows as she waited for an answer. She was staring him down, as though he were in a police interrogation and not the family’s workshop. It had scared him at first, especially when he had Elena had been dating, but now he knew it was just how she looked at people, and it didn’t bother him anymore.

“Si, Victoria.” She nodded, and he breathed a little easier when she released him from her piercing gaze.

At least, it didn’t bother him as much as it used to.

“They want them next Friday, is that enough time?” Franco looked over the shoe with an appraising eye, then nodded.

“Si, Victoria.”

“Good,” she said, but she didn’t walk away. “How is Elena?” Franco went back to his sewing as he answered, knowing Victoria wouldn’t mind.

“She is tired, but she told me to come down to the workshop anyway.” It had taken much persuasion on the part of Elena to get him to even consider leaving her side. She had given birth to their first son yesterday, but she had insisted that she wanted to be alone to rest, and that she would ask him for help if she needed it. And so, with great reluctance, Franco had tied on his apron and gotten to work.

Even though he had been at least an hour early to the workshop, Victoria had already been at her station when he arrived, finishing up the stitching on a pair of shoes she had only started the night before. He suspected she had been working all night, but he didn’t ask her about it, having accepted her workaholic attitude many years ago.

“Do you think she would be up for a visit later?” Franco glanced up at Tia Rosita, who had asked the question, before looking back down at the shoe.

“Maybe before dinner,” he said. Tia Rosita didn’t answer, and he looked up again to see her nodding and turning back to her own shoe.

“Not now?” Franco almost didn’t hear the question, it was so quiet, and he was so engrossed in his work. Victoria was watching him from her workstation, looking… desperate. Franco stared for a second before shaking his head and feeling very guilty at the flash of disappointment in her eyes. Victoria was usually never so expressive, but Franco had noticed over the past few weeks that the mask she had worn since he had met her was starting to crack. If it was anyone else, he would have said they were tired and overworked, and needed a few days off. But this was Victoria, who he knew for a fact was overworked and had never taken a day off. But she had always seemed poised, in control, and now…

The disappointment in her eyes flickered and was gone, and she turned back to the papers at her station. Franco continued the sewing on his shoe, feeling somewhat calm in the familiar surroundings for the first time in eighteen hours, since Elena had announced that she was in labor.

Tio Oscar-or was it Felipe?- cleared his throat a little, and he heard Rosita breathe in sharply as she pricked herself with a needle. Franco didn’t really pay attention until he noticed a sound that didn’t belong there. It only took him a second to figure out what it was, but he kept sewing, pretending he couldn’t hear until-

“Is that you, Gloria?” he asked, and he stifled a chuckle when he heard her annoyed huff. He turned slightly to see his six-year-old daughter standing behind him.

“How did you hear me?” she asked, crossing her arms in a way that was reminiscent of Victoria.

“You live in a family of shoemakers, mijita,” he said, laughing. “We are all very good at hearing footsteps.” 

“Humph,” was her only response as she pouted.

“Are you about-”

“-to go to school?” Franco, even after years of knowing the twins, was still surprised sometimes when they finished each other’s sentences, but Gloria was used to it, having grown up with it, and she answered without hesitating.

“Si. Te amo, Papa!”

“Te amo, Gloria. Be good today.” Gloria nodded, a smile spread across her round face.

“Si, papa, I’m going to tell my teacher about Berto!” Franco smiled and put his shoe down so that he could turn and kiss his daughter on her forehead.

“I’m sure she’ll be very happy to hear about Berto,” he said. “Adios, mija.”

“Adios, papa. Te amo, everybody! Adios!” She bounced toward the door, smiling back at the chorus of “Te amo”s and “Adios”es that answered her.

“Te amo, Gloria.” Gloria froze in the middle of reaching toward the doorknob, and turned around to look at Victoria as the rest of the family also paused and stared at her. None of them had heard her say that or anything like it for two years, since the day Mama Imelda died. They all knew she did love them, she showed it through her hard work and dedication to her family, but to hear her say it out loud was slap in the face, a reminder of how much she had changed and hardened in the past two years.

For a split-second, Victoria looked sad as she glanced around at all of them, but the sadness quickly morphed into discomfort and she snapped, “What? Don’t you have work to do? And you,” her tone softened very slightly, “aren’t you going to be late to school?” Gloria nodded, and she reached for the door with all the slowness of a stunned six-year-old. Victoria sighed and got to her feet, obviously intending to open the door for her.

Franco never knew what it was exactly that made him sure that something was very wrong. Perhaps it was the tiniest of stumbles in Victoria’s step, or the slight hitch in her breath. Whatever it was didn’t matter, because the look in her eyes told him everything. He had only seen such wild terror on one other face; Mama Imelda’s, when she had first clapped a hand to her chest two years ago before collapsing.

Suddenly, Victoria was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Franco stared at her for a moment, uncomprehending, until he realized that Gloria was screaming.

“Rosita!” he cried, pointing at his daughter before he dropped to his knees in front of Victoria’s body. Franco hadn’t seen him come in, but suddenly Papa Julio was there, too, helping him check her ebbing pulse, her ever-shallower breaths.

“Call the hospital,” Franco ordered the twins, who moved as one to obey as Julio shook his daughter by the shoulders, calling her name and begging her to wake up. Franco checked her pulse again, and for a moment he didn’t understand why he couldn’t feel anything. He tried her other wrist, then her neck, and then the first wrist again. He looked down at her face, and noticed there was something… wrong with it, something not Victoria.

Victoria was an expert at concealing her emotions, but even when she was trying to be expressionless there was  _ something _ in her face, a slightly wrinkled brow, or a tightness in her mouth but now…

There was nothing. Her face was blank, completely empty.

She was gone. As soon as he thought it, his mind wanted to reject it. He had only been speaking to her five minutes ago, but she was gone. Just like that.

Franco felt his throat closing up. Was anyone safe? Victoria had been the backbone of their family, the pillar of strength for all of them, if it could happen so quickly for her, couldn’t it happen to anyone?

Elena.

He had to find Elena.

He ran outside, leaving a sobbing Julio behind, and darted up the stairs to his and Elena’s room as quickly as humanly possible.

“Franco, he’s sleeping, don’t be so-Franco?” He almost collapsed in relief at the sight of his wife staring at him from their bed. “What’s wrong?” She sounded panicky. “Is Gloria-?”

“Victoria.” Elena stopped in the middle of getting out of bed, a terrified expression frozen on her face. 

“What?” He floundered for an answer. “Franco! What’s wrong with Victoria?” she demanded.

“She--she just fell, in the shop, she’s--I don’t know what happened-”

“What do you mean, ‘she fell’? Is she hurt?” Franco swallowed, his wife hadn’t understood.

“She--I couldn’t find a-”

“MAMA!” Gloria burst into the room, tear tracks streaking down her face. “Mama--Tia Victoria--sh-she fell and Papa Julio is crying a-and-” Gloria was heaving sobs, sputtering out her words in between.

“Papa is crying?” Elena said quietly, horror dawning in her eyes. “Rosita!” she said shrilly, and Franco jumped and whirled around to see Tia Rosita in the doorway, tears on her face as well. “Watch Berto!” And then Elena was running out of the room and down the stairs, Franco just behind her, terrified to let her out of his sight. They both skidded to a halt in the courtyard when they heard a loud, unearthly sound coming from the workshop. It took Franco a moment to figure out it was someone wailing. When he finally regained control over his feet, he followed Elena into the workshop.

Elena’s mama was clutching Victoria’s body to her chest, keening and crying her grief into Julio’s shoulder. The twins came rushing back in as Elena fell to her knees beside her parents.

“An ambulance is-”

“-on the way.” Franco nodded absentmindedly, his heart twisting as he watched Elena break down over her sister’s body.

“She’s gone-”

“-isn’t she?” It wasn’t really a question, they both understood, but Franco nodded anyway.

“Si. She’s-” The word stuck in his throat, and he cleared it before forcing it out of his mouth. “-dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was kind of upsetting to write. Thanks for reading, please leave a comment :)


	6. Chapter 6

“Elena?” Franco tapped on the door to Victoria’s office. It was Elena’s office now, technically, but he couldn’t help but think of the space as Victoria’s. He felt like an intruder as he slipped inside the door and closed it softly behind him.

Elena didn’t look up from Victoria’s-her-desk as he walked up behind her and dropped a gentle kiss onto her cheek. “It’s late, Elena. Come upstairs.” She didn’t answer except to put down her pen and lean back against him, sighing a little as he started to rub her tense shoulders.

“I didn’t realize how hard she worked.” Franco hands stopped moving at her quiet words, he knew without asking who she was talking about. “I should have paid closer attention.” Franco ran his hand over Elena’s hair, trying to calm her as he searched for a response.

“Elena…”

“She was sick, Franco. At the hospital, they said she must have been sick for weeks, and I never noticed.” Her voice was thick with tears. “I should have seen it.” Franco kneeled next to Victoria’s-Elena’s-chair and cupped Elena’s face in his hand; she leaned into his touch.

“Don’t torture yourself, mi amor. None of us saw it, not even Vic-” His breath caught on her name, and for the life of him he couldn’t force it out.

“Si, but you all have excuses,” Elena said, her breaths growing shallower as she became more distressed. “She was my  _ hermana, _ I knew her better than anyone, and yet-”

“Elena, you were-” Franco began, but she interrupted him before he could finish.

“Pregnant? I’ve been pregnant before, mi amor, that is no excuse for not realizing my sister was-” She gasped, and Franco barely had time to open his arms before Elena flung herself into them, collapsing into a pile on the floor, sobbing and shaking.

“Lo siento,” Franco whispered into her hair, holding her tight against him. “Lo siento, Elena.”

“Why did she never say anything?” she cried into his chest. “The doctor said she must have been in pain. She was in pain, Franco! And she never told me…”

“She had to be strong for the family, mi amor.” Franco had thought about this himself. He knew Victoria had liked to seem impenetrable, but she wasn’t-hadn’t been-stupid. She would have gone to the doctor if she had thought something was very wrong.

Franco had listened more closely to the doctor than Elena, he knew more about the disease, knew it had a cure and was easy to recognize, and he wondered how Victoria could have missed it. The night after she had collapsed in the workshop and Elena had cried herself to sleep in his arms, he had wondered if Victoria  _ had  _ known, and not told anyone. He had dismissed the thought immediately, ashamed of himself for thinking it. Why would Victoria hide such a thing from them?

“Then it’s our fault. Everyone.” Franco tensed slightly at her words, hoping Elena wasn’t about to lash out at him, but she only tightened her grasp on him. “We made her work too hard.”

Deep inside, Franco was sure that was true, but he couldn’t very well say that to Elena. So instead, he gently pulled her to her feet and steadied her when she swayed. He could tell she was exhausted, all day she had been holed up in Victoria’s-her office, it was her office, Franco told himself sternly. And she hadn’t slept well the night before, after they had come home from the funeral.

“Come to bed, mi amor. She wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.” It took some persuasion, but eventually Elena allowed him to guide her up the stairs to their bedroom. He helped her find a nightgown, and then turned away to give her some privacy as she got dressed for bed. She crawled into bed, and he turned off the lamp before lying down beside her.

“Franco?” she asked after a moment, shifting closer to him in the darkness.

“Si, mi amor?”

“Do you think she’s happier now?” Franco wanted to rush to reassure her, to coo meaningless platitudes and say that he was certain that Victoria was very happy and safe in the Land of the Dead. But Elena was a Rivera woman, and Rivera women demanded sincerity in everything. And so he gave it serious thought for a moment, allowing the silence to drag on as he considered.

Victoria, however strong, however dependable, however hard-working, had not been happy in her last few years among the living, of this Franco was certain. He remembered when she used to smile sometimes, and laugh, and read Gloria stories, but that had all ended when Mama Imelda had died and Victoria had taken responsibility for the family business.

Franco had watched, unable to help, as Victoria had gone from strained, to hardened, to empty inside over the past two years, every day burying her emotions deeper and deeper within herself until Franco doubted whether even she could reach them anymore. And now, whether she was actually in the Land of the Dead or just… nowhere, a thread of consciousness wisping through the universe, she was finally free. 

“Si,” he said, and he felt Elena relax next to him. “Wherever she is, mi amor, I think she’s happier.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I was going to go to sleep, and then this happened...  
> Apologies for any errors I didn't spot, it's past midnight where I am and I'm bloody tired.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	7. Chapter 7

Victoria was not prone to distraction. She was the type of person that wouldn't leave her work even if a rhinoceros tore through the building, providing it didn't disturb her work table. Her family admired her for it, it was a good quality to have in their line of work, even if she wasn't much fun around the workshop.

So, everyone looked to Victoria’s table last when, one day, they all heard a thick sewing needle clatter to the floor. They all assumed she was still working, unmoved, until they heard the door fly open and finally saw Victoria running out. Everyone jumped to their feet, knowing that anything that had taken Victoria from her work must be momentous. They all stampeded to the window, shoving each other out of the way to see what was going on, and were surprised to see Pepita standing in the middle of the street, and Victoria nearly tackling the woman standing with her. After a moment, Coco let out a strangled cry and ran out, Julio close behind her.

\------

Elena was running out of patience. She suspected she was dreaming, but it was a very long dream, and it was time for her to wake up. She had breakfast to make and a business to run, she didn't have time for strange dreams.

It had started with her opening her eyes to see a huge jaguar with wings looming over her, shaking her gently with its nose. She had moved to push it away, and then she had screamed and reached for a sandal before she had realized the white thing in front of her was her hand. She was a skeleton in the dream, apparently, and at first had decided to follow the giant cat, as it clearly wanted her to. But that had been many miles and what seemed like many hours ago, and she was starting to get uncomfortable, which was making her angry. The ground felt too hard, the wind too fresh on her face for a normal dream. She wished Franco was with her, so she would have someone to talk to besides the glowing cat. It led her across a bridge of petals to a gate on the other side, where another skeleton in a police uniform was sitting behind a desk. He seemed nervous at the sight of the cat, which Elena found strange. She could sense that the cat meant no harm to anyone, but she shrugged and dismissed it as part of the dream. The skeleton coughed and addressed her.

“You must be a Rivera. Welcome to the Land of the Dead.” Elena blinked and stared at him, suddenly feeling as though the ground had fallen out from under her and left her drowning in a dark, black, suffocating sea. The skeleton didn't seem to notice as he continued. “Pepita knows the way to your home, but we can call your family and tell them to meet you here instead, if you’d like.” Elena stared at him, trying to keep believing she was really asleep, in her bed with Franco, in her family’s house.

“Gracias señor, but I’m going to wake up now.” The skeleton frowned in confusion that quickly turned to understanding, and then pity.

“Señora, I’m afraid you're not dreaming. You're dead. This is Pepita, Imelda Rivera’s spirit guide, and she led you here from the Land of the Living.” Elena gaped at him for a split-second before she turned on Pepita.

“Well what did you do that for, gato estupido?” she yelled. Pepita shrank back as Elena reached for her sandal, obviously familiar with the gesture. “It’s breakfast time! Mis ninos y nietos will be hungry!” 

“Ah, Señora-” The skeleton had the wisdom to stop talking with a sandal pointed at his face.

“I am done talking to you.” Elena slid her shoe back onto her foot and turned back to Pepita. “Well, you are a spirit guide, si? Guide me!” Pepita obeyed, relaxed now that both of Elena’s shoes were on her feet. She led Elena through a grand and beautiful city, and Elena would have been awestruck if she hadn't been so busy being angry. She had a business to run and a family to care for, she didn't have time for dying or any of this nonsense. But she still followed Pepita, her head down and her fists clenched, noticing with begrudging satisfaction that her joints were moving more freely than they had in years. She didn't look up from Pepita’s tail as they walked through several winding streets, and so the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps was her only warning when someone suddenly threw themselves onto her, and it took a moment of flailing to recognize who it was.

“Ack, what-Victoria?” For a minute, she was almost sure she had in fact been dreaming this whole time, because her sister hadn't shown her this much affection since before she could remember.

“Elena, mi hermanita-” Elena almost fell over in shock when Victoria started  _ kissing _ her, all over her face, and it was odd and dry and made a strange clicking noise, but it was nice. “I’ve missed you, hermanita.” Elena felt tears welling up, and for the first time remembered that she had been waiting to come here, to see her familia, for a long time.

“Victoria-I-” She was interrupted by two more hugs from two more people she recognized instantly. “Mama! Papa!” 

“Elena, mijita-” And then she was being smothered by more hugs, from more people she recognized as family. Her tios lifted her up between them and kissed both of her cheeks, before releasing her to Tia Rosita, who whirled her into a tight hug.

“Sobrinita!” she squealed, and Elena smiled even as she was overwhelmed by hands and tears and voices she had nearly forgotten. They migrated through the workshop and into the house, Elena staring around in awe as her family jabbered and shrieked their happiness. The entire time, Victoria kept a tight hold on her hand, as though she could disappear any moment. 

Elena looked around, a thought finally brought to the front of her mind that had been tickling at the back of her skull. “Where is Mama Imelda?” She had been expecting someone to say she was on an errand, or making a business deal, but she wasn't prepared for everyone to fall silent and glance at each other awkwardly.

“She might not be back for a while,” her papa finally said, scratching the back of his head and looking sheepish.

“Where did she go?”

“She went on a walk-”

“-said she wanted a break-”

“-and that she’d be back soon.” Elena looked back and forth at her uncles as they finished each other’s sentences. She had forgotten how hard it was to keep up with them. Everyone froze when they heard voices outside and the front door opening.

“Uno mas, Imelda, por favor-”

“You’ve been saying that for two hours, Hector.”

“Si, but I mean it this time. Just one more.” 

“Not in the-mmph!” There was a pause. “Hector Rivera!” With a loud grito, a lanky skeleton ran through the room. It only took him a second to notice Elena, and another second to run into a wall as he stared at her. He clattered to pieces on the floor, making Elena flinch, but he didn't seem to mind as he gathered himself up. He regarded Elena for a silent moment as his face spread into a wide smile. 

“Mi amor! Come in here!” 

“No, Hector, two hours in an alley should be enough-”

“No, no, Imelda!” Hector quickly cut her off, and for a fleeting moment, Elena was reminded of the time her grandson Miguel was arrested for serenading a young señorita at three a.m. The sheepish smile Hector gave his family was exactly the same as Miguel’s had been. “Someone is here!”

“What? Who?”

“Mama Imelda?” Elena finally called, and heard what sounded like a plate shattering in the kitchen.

“Elena?” Mama Imelda practically flew into the room, somehow managing to pull her boot back on at the same time. She stopped dead at the sight of her entire family, and Elena imagined that if Mama Imelda had skin, it would be bright red as she realized everyone had heard her conversation with Hector. Rosita and Mama were giggling, and Elena glanced up to see Victoria rolling her eyes.

“They've been together again for twenty years, and they still can't restrain themselves,” she muttered. “Welcome home, Elena,” she said louder, in a wry voice. “Here we have Mama Imelda y Papa Hector, who act more like teenagers than heads of a large and prosperous family.” Victoria pointed at them as she was talking, like a bored tour guide who had seen the same painting a hundred times. Elena stifled a laugh, wary of the storminess entering Mama Imelda’s gaze. “And over here, Mama y Papa, who spend a lot of time in the workshop at night for people who work there all day.” Papa took off his hat and laughed nervously as Mama smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Elena looked up at Victoria with some wonder. There were so many things she had forgotten: the way her sister tied her work apron back with a tight double-knot, how she leaned back in one hip when she was feeling comfortable with her situation, the way her mouth tilted when she was hiding laughter. She had forgotten Victoria’s sarcastic sense of humor; it had disappeared after Mama Imelda had died.

“How long have you been here, Elena? Have you seen the house?” Mama Imelda asked before Victoria could continue. She scowled as Hector sidled up next to her, fiddling nervously with his hat and trying to smile in what Elena assumed was supposed to be a charming way. Mama Imelda rolled her eyes and turned away, looking to Elena for an answer.

“I just got here, Mama Imelda. I haven’t seen the house.”

“I’ll show you, come, this way first.” The dry amusement was gone from Victoria’s voice, her tone was now crisp and demanding, which Elena knew was her sister’s way of showing enthusiasm. She pulled her away from the family and up a flight of stairs, barreling forward with clear intent. “I’ve been preparing a room for you. It’s across the hallway from mine.” Elena stared at her sister’s back with wide eyes, allowing herself to be pulled along. It wasn’t much compared to the hugs and kisses earlier, or even to the way she was holding her hand now, but she understood her sister, knew that this was her way of saying she wanted her close.

“Gracias, Victoria.” Victoria snorted.

“Don’t thank me until you’ve seen it,” she said, but there was a small smile on her face. “This one.” She opened a door about halfway down a long hallway, and stepped back to let Elena walk in first.

Elena didn’t know what to expect from a room her sister had apparently been getting ready for her, but there wasn’t much. A bed, a dresser, two bedside tables. There was also a bookshelf, already half full with some of her old favorites, back when she had had time to read. There were a few pictures on the walls, all of family, alive and dead.  Her own wedding picture was on one of the bedside tables. It was a little bare, a little colorless, but all very sensible. And it was nice, in a restrained sort of way, the comforter matched the curtains, and there was a small lamp on each of the bedside tables.

“If I’d known you were coming first, I would have decorated a little more. I know what you like, but I never got to know Franco very well.” Elena felt a small pang in her now empty ribcage at the reminder of her sister’s premature death. “But-”

“I’m sorry Victoria,” she blurted out, and looked at the floor when Victoria seemed confused.

“For what?” Elena stiffened and glanced up at her sister.

“For making you work too hard. I should have realized you were sick. I should have known.” 

“Elena, you couldn't have known, I-” Victoria paused, and Elena saw in her eyes that she was making a decision. “It wasn't your fault, hermana. I don't blame you, you shouldn't blame yourself.” Elena stared up into Victoria’s face. It was strange, looking at her sister and seeing only her skeleton, but somehow it was becoming natural, to look at a skull and see the face of her sister. There was no deception in it now, though the tiniest shadow in her eyes told her that Victoria was omitting something, telling her the truth, but not the whole truth. For a moment, Elena wanted to press her sister to tell her what she was hiding, but she couldn't bring herself to risk an argument, not today.

“I see you’ve already started to fill the bookshelf,” she said with a gesture across the room. Victoria’s face lit up, and Elena smiled. Apparently, sixty-five years of being dead had not diminished Victoria’s love of books.

Or, she thought as she glanced over the pictures again, so carefully placed, her love for her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crazy about the ending, but I've been working on this one for weeks and I honestly just wanted it to be done.   
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! I love comments that let me know what you thought *hint hint*
> 
> And p.s., I'll leave it up to your imagination what Hector and Imelda were doing in that alley


	8. Chapter 8

The last thing Victoria saw was the terrified face of her niece, and then everything was black.

\---

It was a long time before Victoria remembered that she was Victoria, a person, with thoughts and feelings and memories. Or perhaps it was a short time, she couldn’t tell, she didn’t know.

She didn’t like not knowing.

She remembered that she had a body, or some type of form, because she could feel the hard ground on her back. And as she opened them, Victoria remembered that she had eyes, too, as well as a body.

There was something huge and furry looming over her, it took her another infinite split-second to realize that it was a nose, and that there was an enormous cat attached to it. She should be afraid, she realized somewhere in the back of her mind. The cat should frighten her, but as she stared up at it, the only feeling she could muster was bemusement. 

So this was death.

The thought came without any effort, almost as though someone else had whispered it into her ear without explanation. With it came more memories, the knowledge that she was dead reminding her that she had been alive. She realized that she and the cat were not alone, two others were in the room as well. Her parents were kneeling next to her, holding each other and crying, and it took her a moment to understand why.

Oh yes. She was dead. They would be upset about that.

She wondered if she could move her arms. She had, after all, opened her eyes, why should the rest of her body be different? She sat up and lifted her (spirit? soul?) out of her once-living arm and flexed her fingers. She was a skeleton, she thought with some interest. She hadn't expected that.

She stood up with a stumble, and something large and hard touched her back to steady her. She turned around and saw that it was a long, lizard-like tail, and she looked up at the cat.

“Thank you,” she said. It tilted its head as it looked at her, looking confused. “Why are you here?”

She didn’t know if she expected the cat to actually answer. She would probably be surprised if it spoke, but should she? She was a skeleton, and a giant, glowing cat with wings and horns was in her workshop. She was also dead. A talking cat wouldn’t be the strangest thing she had encountered that day.

Her wandering mind was brought back to the present when the cat somehow turned around in the length of the workshop and slipped out the door. It poked its head back in and meowed, and Victoria made her way across the workshop to follow it out. 

But she hesitated at the door, and looked back for a moment. It occurred to her that wherever the cat took her, she might never see her family again, and so she took a minute to look over each of them.

Her mama was holding her body to her chest, leaning into Papa and sobbing. Papa was helping Mama hold her, and his other arm was wrapped around Mama, holding her tight against him. Elena had just come in, and she fell to her knees on Papa’s other side, shuddering and wailing. Something twisted in Victoria’s chest at seeing the anguish on her hermanita’s face, but she tried to brush it off. There was nothing she could do about it. 

She was standing in the doorway next to Franco, who was watching Elena with heartbreak on his face.

“An ambulance is-”

“-on the way.” Victoria instinctively stepped out of the way as her tios skidded in, though she supposed they would go right through her if she didn't move.

“It’s useless,” she said, even though they couldn’t hear her. 

“She’s gone-”

“-isn’t she?” Victoria looked at her tios, standing helplessly behind Franco, and wished she could smile at them one more time. They always loved when she smiled.

“Si, she’s-” Franco stopped, he seemed to be struggling to speak. 

“Well, spit it out,” Victoria said crossly. She liked Franco well enough, but it looked like he was going to have to be the strong one now, at least until Elena pulled herself together. Stuttering and hesitating never inspired confidence in anyone.

“-dead.”

Dead.

Again, she didn’t think it on purpose, but there it was. She was dead. The cat leaned forward and touched her with the top of its head. It seemed to be comforting her and urging her to follow at the same time.

“Yes, all right,” Victoria said, but she didn’t move. She was unable to tear her gaze away from her family. Tia Rosita wasn’t there, or Gloria, but she supposed that was better. Neither of them would cope well, seeing her like that. It was odd, looking at her own limp, lifeless body, and somewhat disturbing. She turned away.

“I’m ready.” The cat purred, then trotted away, just slowly enough that Victoria didn’t have to run to keep up. She followed it out of her home, away from her family, and through her town. Victoria heard people beginning their days, fathers leaving home and going to work and mothers waking their children, but she didn’t look up from the cat’s tail until, suddenly, the ground wasn’t made of stone anymore. Victoria blinked and looked up.

Well, that certainly hadn't been there before.

A giant bridge made of what looked like orange petals stretched out in front of her, and on the other side was the strangest and most beautiful city Victoria had ever seen.

The buildings were all impossibly tall and slender, and the whole city was lit up by a hundred different colors of lights, twinkling brighter than stars. She stared up at the city in awe, and didn't notice that she had been walking until a cheerful voice snapped her out of her trance and she realized she was on the other side of the bridge.

“Hola, Señorita! You must be a Rivera!” Victoria blinked, instantly suspicious, and gazed at the skeleton who had spoken with narrowed eyes. It looked like a man, though  it was hard to tell as just a skeleton, and he was sitting in a booth next to a small gate.

“What gives you that impression?” she asked coldly, crossing her arms and giving him her signature, over-the-glasses intimidating stare. He gulped and grinned nervously.

“Definitely a Rivera,” he said, quietly enough that Victoria almost didn't hear him. “This is Pepita,” he said, pointing to the cat. “Imelda Rivera’s spirit guide.” When he didn't offer anymore explanation, Victoria raised her brow.

“And?”

“And, spirit guides tend to stay to one family, Señorita.”

“I see.” There was a pause as Victoria waited for the skeleton to say something, and he waited for seemingly the same thing from her.

“Ah…” he said eventually. “Pepita knows the way to Imelda Rivera’s home, if you’d like to follow her there, or we could call any member of your family and arrange a reunion, if you’d prefer.”

“I will follow Pepita,” Victoria said immediately. The cat had already proven she could be trusted, Victoria was unwilling to rely on anyone else to guide her home.

“As you wish, Señorita. You can be on your way, if you’ll just answer a few questions.” The skeleton pulled out a form and a pen.

“Very well,” Victoria said, hoping it wouldn't take too long. She had grown tired of this nervous man and the scared glances he kept casting Pepita’s way. 

“Your full name?”

“Victoria Imelda Rivera.”

“Age at death?”

“Twenty-nine.” That gave him pause, and he glanced up, but Victoria gave him her best frosty glare, and he didn't press the issue.

“Cause of death?” Victoria hesitated. She wasn't supposed to have known she was sick. If someone, for whatever reason, saw this paper, saw she had given an answer…

“Unknown.” The skeleton man didn't seem bothered by that answer, perhaps he got it often. He made a quick note of it, and looked up at Victoria with what she guessed was supposed to be a friendly smile. It was difficult to tell, she would have to get used to reading skeletal facial expressions.

“Welcome to the Land of the Dead, Señorita,” he said, and gestured to the gate.

\---

“Are we close, Pepita?” Victoria said quietly. They had been walking for some time through streets bustling with early morning activity, all of them filled with walking, talking skeletons. Victoria had quickly adapted, she no longer jumped when another person came in to view. She only kept close to Pepita and tried not to meet anyone's eyes, as wary of strangers in death as she had been in life.

No one had really paid her any mind. After all, she thought, she was only another skeleton among skeletons, but it was still difficult to not feel as if she were being watched.

For the last two years, every venture from her house had earned her the stares of the entire town. At first, every face had been filled with pity, and all the whispers had been sad and kind. Over time, however, the town had moved on. Though Mama Imelda had been one of the pillars of the community, having been there longer than most people remembered, and though everyone had been saddened by her death, they eventually went on with their lives, expecting the Rivera family to move on as well.

And they had, for the most part. There was still a business to run, still mouths to feed. The family had gathered itself up and started living again, trying to ease back into normalcy. No one had tried harder to move on than Victoria. And no one had failed as badly.

It took some time for people to notice, but eventually words that had been whispered out of respect for a grieving family became harsh. People saw that she didn’t smile anymore, didn’t speak to anyone she didn’t have to, not even her own sister. 

It was just so  _ hard _ , running the business, trying to keep her family happy, and she so wanted to be like Mama Imelda, to do what she would have done, but she kept failing, kept disappointing everyone. And they could all see it, she was sure, the whispers and the stares had told her that everyone knew she was nearly coming apart at the seams.

Pepita stopped in her tracks and whipped her head around to stare at Victoria, who blinked, shaken out of her spiraling anxiety attack. Pepita’s fierce yellow eyes bore into her own, and she slowly turned around and stretched her head forward. She leaned the entire length of her head against Victoria’s body and made a low, comforting, grumbling noise that Victoria realized was a purr. Her fur was very soft, and Victoria stroked it tentatively. The ever-present bubble of anxiety in her ribcage shrank and sank into a remote corner of her mind, pulling her from the past and leaving her in the present.

“Thank you, Pepita,” she said quietly. Pepita gave her a small nudge, which Victoria interpreted as ‘you’re welcome,’ and pulled her head away. 

Victoria expected Pepita to turn around and keep walking, but she was surprised when she instead sat down right in front of her, facing a small shop, and let a quiet  _ mrrow _ in through the window.

“Pepita!” Victoria gasped and froze. “Where have you been, gatita? I’ve been so worried!” Victoria peeked around Pepita to confirm what her mind and her memories were telling her, and she almost cried when she saw she had been right.

There stood Mama Imelda. She was a skeleton, of course, but Victoria recognized her immediately. She was still tall and graceful, with a commanding presence that drew all eyes to her, even as she fussed over her beast of a cat. And she was still beautiful, and dignified, and everything a leader should be. Everything Victoria wasn’t.

“Thank goodness you’re home, I-” Victoria shrank back into Pepita’s shadow. “Hello?”

“Hola, Mama Imelda,” she said quietly. Mama Imelda was easy to read, even as a skeleton. She looked stricken, absolutely horrified.

“Victoria?” It came out as a gasp, and Victoria flinched. She knew, without a doubt, that Mama Imelda was not angry with her. Her temper, though legendary, had rarely ever been directed at her own family. But Victoria couldn’t help waiting for the bitter disappointment she felt she deserved, for failing so badly as a leader, and then dying before she could learn to be better.

But now, she realized, she didn't have to lead anymore. She didn't have to be strongest, didn't have to work the hardest or worry the most. She didn't know whether or not she should feel guilty for how suddenly grateful she was to be dead.

“Oh, Vicita-” Mama Imelda rushed forward, and for the first time in two years, Victoria didn't flinch away from physical contact. She could be weaker. She could be comforted.

She allowed Mama Imelda to pull her into her embrace, and Victoria sagged in her arms as she hugged her back.

“Mi nieta preciosa, mi anjelita, ay, you must be so cold, it’s freezing out here! Come into the house, Vicita, come, it’s just through the workshop, ay, mi nieta pobrecita!” Victoria didn't say anything, she let Mama Imelda gush and wail uninterrupted as she led her into the house.

Victoria barely had time to see the shop as Mama Imelda pushed her through it, but she looked up at the house as she walked in, her breath catching at how familiar it was, and yet how strange.

From the outside, it looked a bit more conventional than the Casa de Rivera in Land of the Living. There were no add-ons sticking off to the side, no sloppy paint jobs barely covering the last coat. It had obviously not been lived in by multiple generations of the same family, as her last house had been. And yet, it wasn't completely alien. Mama Imelda’s flowers were growing neatly in the window boxes, and the laundry was hanging in the courtyard. 

The house looked a bit empty from the outside, as though it was barely lived in, but it didn't seem foreboding. For the first time in years, Victoria’s house didn't seem like a prison, somewhere she was trapped and unable to get away from.

It looked like home.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware of the inconsistencies. They kept me up at night.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	9. Chapter 9

Victoria sighed, but didn’t look up from her work. “You should be resting, Elena.” Elena rolled her eyes.

“You sound like Franco,” she said as she walked further into the workshop. “How did you know it was me?”

“No one else in this house waddles, Elena.” Elena raised her eyebrows. That had almost been a joke. “Do you need something?”

“I live here, too, hermana,” Elena said crossly, her mood soured. In the months after Mama Imelda’s death, Elena had adjusted to her sister’s new, emotionless voice, but something about being eight-and-a-half months pregnant was making her sister’s empty tone very irritating. Victoria sighed, a sound that catapulted Elena’s annoyance through the roof, and she put down the shoe she was working on.

“What is it?” Victoria asked, her tone somehow managing to make Elena feel guilty for disturbing her and furious at the same time. Elena took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Franco was hovering around her enough as it was, she didn’t need to return from spending five minutes without him ready to throw a fit.

“We’re ready to take photos.”

“Photos? Of what?” Elena frowned.

“Everyone, Vicky. We talked about it at lunch.”

“Don’t call me Vicky,” Victoria said, turning back to her shoe. “And I didn’t have lunch.”

“You-” Elena struggled against her pregnancy hormones for a moment- _ she’s your older sister, the head of the family, she’s not a child- _ but eventually lost. “You need to eat, hermana,” she chided. “You’re so thin, you’re going to starve yourself.” Victoria’s shoulders tightened defensively.

“I don’t have time to eat.” Elena blinked and gaped at her, momentarily thrown for a loop. Victoria glanced at her and seemed to regret her words, like she had let something slip. “I’ll have something later,” she said. “And I ate breakfast.” Elena narrowed her eyes, the tightness in Victoria’s jaw setting off alarm bells in her head.

“Did you?” Victoria hesitated, then put the shoe down again and turned back to her.

“No.” Elena opened her mouth to scold her, but Victoria cut her off. “Where are we taking the pictures?” Elena pursed her lips.

“The courtyard, which you would know if-”

“Enough, Elena.” Elena fell silent, and stood back so Victoria could stand up. She did so with a small wince and hitch in her breath, but she had crossed the room and left the workshop before Elena could even open her mouth to ask if she was all right. Elena waddled out after her, and had to lean on the doorframe for a moment to catch her breath before continuing into the courtyard. 

“Victoria! Now we have everyone!” Tia Rosita squealed, and Victoria raised her eyebrows at her.

“Why are we taking pictures?” she asked, looking skeptical, but Tia Rosita’s smile didn’t falter. “And where is Papa?”

“He’s making a delivery, we’ll take his picture later,” Rosita said cheerily. “And why not take some photos?”

“We haven’t had any-”

“-pictures developed in ages.” Victoria glanced between her tios, unimpressed.

“How many pictures are you planning to take?” Elena sighed and waddled over to Franco, who unconsciously held out an arm so she could lean on him. Of course, Victoria couldn’t accept it cheerfully, she had to ask a hundred questions and sap all the fun from it, Elena thought with a huff, and she crossed her arms on top of her stomach.

“Just one of everybody, Victoria.” Victoria turned to her mother’s soft voice. Coco was holding the camera, and Victoria took a deep breath that was almost a sigh.

“Very well, Mama,” she said, and everyone let out a collective breath of relief they hadn't realized they had been holding. Elena rolled her eyes. Si, Victoria was the head of the family now, but that didn't mean everyone had to ask her permission for  _ everything. _ But she shook off her irritation, and watched with amusement as Rosita started lining everyone up for photos. She started with Oscar and Felipe, making them stand in front of the wall and turn this way and that until she was satisfied. When Rosita nodded, Coco snapped a photo of each of them, and smiled when she told her tios that she had it.

Elena was next, then Franco, and by the time Rosita was situating herself in front of the camera, Elena could tell Victoria was getting antsy. She scowled. She understood that Victoria liked to be alone, but couldn’t she do this one thing for her family without making a fuss?

“Mama,” Victoria eventually said. “I have to get back to work.” Coco’s face fell, and Elena glared at her sister. She had plenty of time, Elena thought, she was just being antisocial, and hurting their mother’s feelings in the process. 

“Just a few more minutes, mija,” Coco said quietly, but Victoria only crossed her arms.

“Maybe later, mama,” she said, turning back towards the workshop.

“Victoria-” She stopped, but didn’t turn back around. Coco sighed. “Turn around, mija, I’ll take your picture now.” Victoria took a deep breath before turning on her heel, not bothering to uncross her arms or even look directly at the camera. A lock of her hair had somehow gotten loose from her topknot, but looking down at Coco, Victoria didn’t notice it, and Elena didn’t bother to point it out. Maybe it would make her look more like a person and less like an unfeeling statue.

“Smile,” Coco said, and Elena snorted at the odds of that happening. Coco took the picture, and before the flash had faded from the courtyard Victoria was gone, the end of her skirt already whipping through the door to the workshop. Coco stared after her for a moment, and Elena was struck by how old and frail she looked in her sadness.

“Your turn Mama,” she said, her forced cheerfulness penetrating the somber mood Victoria had left behind her. She took the camera and nodded to Rosita, who began positioning Coco with a bit less enthusiasm than before. “There,” Elena said as she took the picture. Coco smiled, but didn’t say anything, her gaze still wandering to the workshop. “We can try to take another picture of Victoria later, Mama. You sneak up on her and make her smile, and I’ll take the photo from the bushes.” Rosita, Franco, and the twins laughed, and Coco’s smile grew wider.

“Si, mija,” she said warmly, her eyes lit up in amusement. “But we’ll wait, si? Lull her into a false sense of security.”

“Si, Mama,” Elena answered with a grin. “We have plenty of time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And while Elena's having her pity party, Victoria knows she's dying.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment. I'm feeling very meh about this one, what do you think?


	10. Chapter 10

“Wake up, gemelos!” Felipe jolted upright in his bed as the door to his and Oscar’s room flew open.

“Imelda, it’s 4 o’clock in the morning, what-”

“Elena is sick, we are taking her to the hospital.”

“All of us?” Oscar asked from his bed, sleepiness making his voice indistinct. “We won’t all fit in the truck, Imelda.”

“I know that!” Imelda snapped, and the last remnants of sleep were shaken from Felipe’s body at the genuine fear in his hermana’s voice. “You two stay here with Victoria, take care of her until we get back.” Strike fear, Felipe thought as he swung his feet off of his bed, Imelda was  _ panicked. _ He and Oscar got out of their beds, and as one moved to place a comforting hand on Imelda’s shoulders.

“You go, Imelda,” said Oscar.

“We’ll be all right here,” said Felipe, giving Imelda’s shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go at the same moment Oscar did. Downstairs, the sound of a baby shrieking wormed its way into Felipe’s senses, followed by Coco’s voice, high-pitched and terrified. Imelda spun around and flew down the stairs, Oscar and Felipe right behind her. She started giving orders as soon as she was within earshot of the kitchen, where most of the rest of the family was gathered. Rosita was flying around the room, grabbing food and coats, her urgency increasing with each of Elena’s shrieks. Coco was holding Elena, trying in vain to get her to calm down, and Julio was holding Coco, trying in vain to get _her_ to calm down.

“Coco, Julio, get her in the car, Rosita, you will give me directions,” Imelda barked, and everyone immediately moved to obey. But Coco suddenly froze on her way out the door, her panic-stricken face filled with guilt.

“Victoria! Oh, Mama, what about-” she said shrilly, barely managing to be heard over Elena’s ear-piercing wails.

“We will stay here-”

“-and take care of Victoria,” Oscar and Felipe rushed to assure her. She hesitated for another moment, but then Julio gently tugged her towards the door, and she followed without resistance as Elena’s screams grew louder. Imelda grabbed Rosita, who had run out of things to gather and was wringing her hands and flittering around the room in her hysteria, and pulled her out of the house. She slammed the door behind her, and thirty seconds later, Oscar and Felipe heard the truck start up and roar down the street. They stared at the door for a second, unsettled by the silence, then looked at each other.

What do you think? Oscar asked silently with a raise of his eyebrows. Felipe shrugged. He glanced at the ceiling, then to the kitchen table.

Back to bed, or stay down here? he was asking, and Oscar nodded at the table. Felipe agreed, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, either. They sat down side by side, shoulders just touching.

“Mama? Papa?” Both brothers nearly jumped out of their seats as the silence was suddenly broken. Their eyes snapped to the foot of the stairs, where their four-year-old grandniece was standing in her nightgown, her blanket clutched to her chest. “Tio Oscar, Tio Felipe, where is Mama and Papa?” she asked quietly, sounding very small. “I heard Elena crying, but she’s not in her crib.” Oscar and Felipe glanced at each other, then back at Victoria, identical, reassuring smiles forced onto their faces. 

“Come here, Victoria,” Felipe said, and Oscar opened his arms. They scooted closer together as Victoria shuffled over to them obediently, her eyes wide and scared over her blanket. Oscar lifted her up and situated her between them, half on Felipe’s lap and half on Oscar’s. As one, they each grabbed and end of Victoria’s blanket and wrapped her in it, before they each wrapped an arm around her. 

“Your hermanita is sick, Victoria,” Felipe started.

“And your mama and papa took her to the doctor,” Oscar finished. Victoria didn’t answer, except to snuggle back against them. That told them she was frightened, she usually shied away from physical contact. They both started rocking from side to side, stroking her hair down to her braid and smoothing her blanket around her.

“Will Elena be okay?” she eventually asked in the same small voice, and Oscar and Felipe glanced at each other over her head. Neither of them had any real idea of what was wrong with Elena, but they fought to keep the fear out of their voices.

“Your mama and papa-” Oscar said.

“-are going to make sure the doctors do their best,” Felipe finished. Victoria burrowed even further back, and Oscar and Felipe’s arms tightened around her. There was a moment of silence before Felipe blinked and glanced down at Victoria’s head.

“Do you always check on Elena when she’s crying, Victoria?” he asked, and Oscar blinked, too. Victoria stiffened, then tugged her blanket tighter around her.

“Is that wrong?” she asked quietly. “I don’t like when she’s crying.” Oscar and Felipe glanced at each other in surprise as they started to answer.

“No, mija-”

“-that’s not wrong,” they told her. “Actually-”

“-it’s very grown up.” Too grown up, she was only four, she shouldn’t feel that she had to check on her one-year-old sister. She slowly relaxed back into their embrace, turning a little to rest her head on Oscar’s shoulder. Felipe slowly shifted her small body completely onto Oscar’s lap, where she curled up into a more comfortable position, then he kissed the top of her head.

“I want to stay awake,” she said, her voice already muffled with sleep. “I want to wait for Elena.” Felipe adjusted her blanket as Oscar ran a soothing hand over her hair.

“We’ll wait for her, mija,” Felipe said.

“You can go to sleep.” Victoria’s eyebrows puckered into a frown, but her eyes were already closing. Oscar began rocking again, holding her gently to his chest. Victoria sighed before she drifted off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, it isn't sad. Elena has an ear infection by the way, she's not dying or anything.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	11. Chapter 11

Miguel looked up from tuning his guitar, a wide grin spreading across his features as he heard the sounds of approaching footsteps.

Ever since that fateful Dia de los Muertos seven years ago, he’d been able to see his visiting family members whenever they crossed the bridge from the Land of the Dead, and he always looked forward to seeing them every year. Usually, he bolted from his spot next to the gate straight to Papa Hector, who greeted him with a grin and a big hug before passing him to Mama Imelda, who took his face in her hands and tutted disapprovingly at how skinny he was. After giving him short, warm greetings, the rest of the family usually dispersed among their living relatives, though Hector tended to stay close to Miguel the whole time. Miguel was content with this arrangement, he always had plenty to tell Hector about his year and songs for him to listen to, but this year, he was anticipating the arrival of his deceased relatives for a different reason. Or rather, a different person.

He saw Tia Victoria as soon as she stepped into the courtyard with the other Riveras, but he went to Hector first, as he usually did.

“Papa Hector!” he cried, his face bright with happiness even as nervousness coiled in his chest.

“Chamaco!” Hector gave him a hug, his skeletal arms reassuringly strong and firm. “You’ve gotten taller! I thought you were done growing!” Miguel laughed and shrugged, then turned to Mama Imelda, who had to crane her neck to look up into his face.

“Ay, mijo, you’re worse than Victoria!” Miguel tensed slightly and glanced at Tia Victoria, who was rolling her eyes. Suddenly reminded of what he had to do, he gave everyone else a quick nod and accepted their hugs and kisses before turning to Tia Victoria. She had briefly touched his shoulder in greeting before walking toward the kitchen to see her sister, but Miguel reached out and grabbed her hand. She turned back to him, her brow raised in curiosity. 

“Tia Victoria, can--can I show you something?” She frowned slightly in confusion, but nodded and followed him towards his room. They passed several of his living relatives who were preparing for the festivities, but they had long since learned to ignore his strange behavior on Dia de los Muertos. He had managed to convince them he was only putting on a show for his little sister, who certainly enjoyed hearing his one-sided conversations with ghosts.

But Miguel didn’t put on any sort of show as he passed everyone, instead heading to his room without a glance at any of them. Miguel blushed to the roots of his hair when they got to his room and he remembered what a mess it was, with clothes and papers everywhere. He sheepishly cleared a spot for Tia Victoria to sit on his bed, and tried to shake out his nerves as she sat down gracefully, not seeming to mind the clutter. Miguel took his guitar off his back and strummed it one last time, just to be sure it was in tune.

“Well, Miguel?” Miguel jumped a bit, then smiled nervously before clearing his throat.

“I-uh, I wrote a song.” Tia Victoria cocked her head to the side, prompting him to explain further. “And I want you to hear it before anyone else.” That confused her, she frowned as he searched for words.

“Why?” she asked. Miguel gulped. Tia Victoria wasn’t like Mama Imelda, she didn’t have to make an effort to be intimidating; her cool, unapproachable demeanor did it for her. Without trying, she was making him sweat and his mouth had become very dry. He coughed, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack.

“Because I want your permission before playing it for anyone else.” She was still confused, but she sat back on her seat, which Miguel took as a prompt to start. He played the opening chords of his song, willing himself not to forget the words as he began.

It started out happy and sweet, telling the story of a girl who grew up in a large loving family, and the corner of Tia Victoria’s mouth twitched up into a smile. But then, with one jarring strum, the whole song changed. It was now harried and discordant as the girl found herself faced with enormous responsibility that changed her from a sweet, quiet girl into a hardened, icy woman. The first chorus had been the girl’s family telling her how much they loved her and how important she was to them, but the second was slightly different as the family’s words seemed heavier and more burdensome, about how much they needed the girl’s strength and leadership. 

Tia Victoria shoulders were tightening with every word, but Miguel plowed on, determined to finish the girl’s story.

In the last verse, she was forced to choose between her own life and the impossible standards her family was holding her to, and ultimately, she chose not to disappoint her family. The song ended with her sudden death, and her family realizing what they had done to her. 

It was a grim ending, but Miguel lightened it by finishing with a few chords from the beginning of the song, as though he was saying the end was not so bad, because it wasn’t really the end. He had been determined to leave the listener with the impression that the girl had been happy again, after she had been freed from her unbearable responsibility.

Tia Victoria was very still for two whole minutes after Miguel finished, but he didn’t dare break the silence. He stood in the middle of his room, watching her as she stared at the wall, her face empty of any emotion.

Eventually, she swallowed and said, “How do you know, Miguel?” Miguel looked down in shame.

“I read your journal.” Fire flared in Tia Victoria’s eyes and her jaw tightened, and Miguel flinched.

“Why?” she asked in a low, dangerous voice. Miguel grimaced, there was no good way to say it.

“There was an argument, and I ran into your room to get away, and everyone was shouting for me to come out, but-” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry, Tia Victoria, I went through your desk and found the journal.”

“And decided to read it.” Miguel looked at the floor, unable to meet his Tia’s eyes as he nodded. “Why did you write this song, Miguel?” Miguel looked up, surprised.

“I-” He paused. He hadn’t been expecting this question, maybe a cold refusal or even for her to storm out of the room, but nothing close to what she had asked him. “People should know what you did for you family.”

“No.” Miguel’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t been very hopeful, but it was still disappointing. “Miguel, our family in the Land of the Dead knows, but your Abuelita doesn’t, and no one is going to tell her but me.”

“Okay.” He understood, he really did, but still…

Tia Victoria tilted her head and peered up into his face, her narrowed eyes examining him closely through her glasses. “You want to play this song.” It wasn’t a question, but Miguel still felt compelled to answer.

“Si, Tia Victoria. You deserve it.” Tia Victoria sighed, ignoring his last comment as she continued to frown up at him.

“Your Abuelita is going to ask about it. Do you think, Miguel, that you could keep the real story to yourself?” Miguel looked up, suddenly hopeful, and nodded eagerly. Tia Victoria glanced down and to the side, apparently deliberating her choice. Miguel waited with bated breath for her decision, his knuckles whitening on the neck of his guitar.

After what seemed like a long time, Tia Victoria stood up. They were the same height now, and she looked directly into his eyes.

“Miguel,” she said, “do you promise you will not tell Elena?” Miguel felt the weight of her words, how important this promise was to her. He understood that she would keep him to his word, that he would have to keep the secret for years if he agreed.

“I promise,” he said. She stared at him for another moment, and he gazed resolutely back into her eyes without flinching. She smiled.

“Very well, then.” Miguel’s heart soared, and he pulled Tia Victoria into a hug before realizing what he was doing. He froze, his thoughts catching up with his actions, but she surprised him. Two skeletal arms wrapped around his torso, and for a brief moment, Tia Victoria embraced him. “Thank you, Miguel.” Miguel wasn’t sure if she meant for the song, or for keeping her secret, but she released him and swept out of his room before he could ask.

He stared after her for a moment, disarmed by her sudden departure, but then shook himself and ran out his door. His family had known he’d been working on a new song, and had been pestering him about it for weeks. He’d never told them anything, having decided early on to respect Tia Victoria’s privacy, but now that he had her permission he could finally play it for them.

“Miguel! When are you gonna play us that new song of yours, hmm?” Miguel grinned.

“I could play it right now, Tia Gloria.” She blinked, surprised, as the rest of the family looked up, too. They were in the courtyard, the living and the dead, all waiting for supper to start. Abuelita put a platter of tamales on the long table and then placed her hands on her hips.

“Well then play it, mijo!” she demanded, and excited smile spreading across her face. She still didn’t listen to music much, through sheer force of habit and years of hating any music, but she always loved to hear songs Miguel had written. Tia Victoria was standing next to Abuelita, and Miguel raised his eyebrows at her, silently asking permission. The other dead  Riveras glanced at Victoria, too, but in confusion. She looked down at Abuelita, her reluctance evident, but when Miguel’s polite silence became pleading, her lips twitched up into a wry smile.

“Very well,” she said again. “If you must.” Miguel grinned and immediately launched into the introduction. All the Riveras listened intently as Miguel started the first verse, though Miguel’s deceased relatives glanced at Victoria every few seconds before looking back at Miguel. His lighthearted tone deepened and became more serious as he continued into the second verse, and his smile shrank to a grave expression. The dead Riveras realized who the song was about at different times; Coco was first, followed by Imelda and Hector, then Julio, Rosita, and the twins. They all turned to watch Victoria’s reaction to the final verse, Rosita and Coco both wincing at nearly every word. When Miguel ended the song, Imelda was holding Hector’s arm more tightly than was strictly necessary, Julio and the twins were holding their hats and looking extremely depressed, and Coco and Rosita were fidgeting restlessly. Victoria glanced at them and grimaced, but opened her arms.

Both women rushed at her as one and nearly knocked her over in their hurry to embrace her as Elena asked, “Where do you think of these things, Miguel?” Miguel glanced at Tia Victoria, who was practically being smothered by Mama Coco and Tia Rosita. They were both crying, and Mama Imelda was too, she had just joined them, and Tia Victoria was just accepting their crushing hugs. She obviously knew it would be useless to resist. Miguel smiled a little and absentmindedly played the last happy, hopeful chords of his song again as he looked back at his abuelita.

“I don’t know, Abuelita. Did you like it?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about writing songs, but I've heard songs sort of like this, mostly old country songs. I have some more ideas for this chapter that I may or may not follow up on.  
> Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


	12. Chapter 12

"Victoria?" Victoria looked up from the dish she was washing and fought the urge to adjust her glasses with her soap-covered hands.

"Si, Tia Rosita?" It was the week after Dia de los Muertos, the week after the family had heard Miguel's song about Victoria. Everyone had been walking on eggshells around her ever since, but she was ignoring their odd behavior. She wished she hadn't let Miguel play the song, she was becoming very frustrated with her family acting so skittish around her.

She and Tia Rosita were washing dishes together, but contrary to her normal behavior, this was the first time Rosita had  spoken.

"Miguel's song-" Victoria rolled her eyes and turned back to the pot she was scrubbing. She missed Rosita's mindless chatter, recently all conversations with her had been forced and awkward. "Victoria, please. Was it-was it right?"

"What do you mean?" Victoria grunted as she scraped at a particularly difficult speck.

"The girl in the song-I know she was you, but-she was-" Rosita hesitated, and Victoria could tell she was trying not to cry. "She was so unhappy, and felt so alone." Victoria didn't respond except to hand Rosita a pot to dry. Rosita took it and asked, "Was that how you felt?" Victoria paused and took a breath. She didn't like to think about those years she'd been the leader of the family, they'd been the worst years of her life and afterlife. But for a moment, she allowed herself to remember the desperation, the constant anxiety, and the ever present knowledge that the family, the business, and the household rested squarely on her shoulders.

The worst part was that she _ had _ felt alone, surrounded by her family, everyone who loved her and everyone she couldn't possibly talk to about her feelings, not when they were all relying on her so much. They'd needed her to be strong, she could never have told them how close she felt to falling apart.

She went back to washing without answering, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Victoria."

"Tia Rosita, it was a long time ago. And I'm happy now.” Rosita didn't say anything as Victoria handed her another dish, she just took it and dried in silence.

But after a moment, she couldn't bear the tension spreading through the room, and said, “Victoria, por favor, you know you weren't alone?” Victoria stiffened, and Rosita bit her lip, wringing her hands fretfully. “Please tell me you didn't think you were.” Victoria didn't answer, she only started washing a plate with great ferocity. Rosita’s hand flew over her mouth, she looked horrified. “You did!” she gasped. “Victoria, why-”

Victoria didn’t know what happened, something snapped inside her, and suddenly the plate she had been washing had shattered against the wall and she was shouting, “I was alone!” Rosita stared up at her, completely shocked. “I needed you, I needed our family, but you needed me more!” Victoria curled her fingers through her hair, clenching her fists so tightly that it hurt. She wasn’t looking at Rosita anymore; she was staring straight through her, lost in her hysteria and horrible memories. “But you-none of you-”

“We were grieving, mija-”

“And I wasn’t?” Victoria said shrilly. “I loved Abuelita, and I missed her as much as the rest of you, but-but-” She took a deep, shuddering breath and curled in on herself, hunching over and staring at the floor. “I failed. I failed.” She was mumbling under her breath, and Rosita leaned forward warily to try to understand.

“What are you talking about, Victoria?” Victoria’s head snapped up, and Rosita jumped back.

“I was falling apart, I was a shell of a person, it was so  _ hard,  _ why did it have to be so hard?” She was almost speaking too quickly for Rosita to hear, and she didn’t seem aware of her presence.

Rosita wanted to scream, she wanted to yell for the family to help Victoria, but her shock kept her frozen in place and silent, watching helplessly as her niece had a mental breakdown in front of her. 

“So empty, so alone-” Suddenly, Victoria collapsed, sobbing, and Rosita finally was able to scream. But she wasn’t seeing her niece as she was, a skeleton, but as the girl she had been fifty years ago when she had passed out in the shop and had never woken up. Her scream brought the family running, all of them reaching the door at once and fighting through at the same time before they saw Victoria.

Coco and Julio immediately fell to their knees on either side of her, but at their touch Victoria pushed herself half to her feet and threw herself into a corner, shaking and whimpering in near-gibberish. Coco tried to approach her, but Victoria screamed, a high, piercing, heart-shattering noise none of them had ever heard from her. Coco stumbled back into Julio’s arms before rounding on Rosita.

“What happened?” she shrieked.

“It’s my fault!” Rosita cried, tears streaming down her face. “I shouldn’t have asked so many questions-”

“Enough!” Imelda interrupted, and Rosita fell silent. Imelda turned to Victoria, her face and manner gentle and unthreatening. Victoria’s wide-eyed gaze latched into her.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly as Imelda approached. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“You don’t have to be sorry, mija,” Imelda said in a soothing tone, slowly reaching forward. Victoria’s entire body spasmed violently at Imelda’s words.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” she kept saying, more agitated now. Imelda glanced at Hector, who very slowly stepped forward to stand next to her.

“Why are you sorry, mija?” he asked gently, kneeling down to look her in the face. She seemed confused as she looked at him, like the answer was obvious.

“I abandoned my family.” Hector’s face twitched, very slightly, but he brushed it off. “I-I left them, when they needed me-”

“You did what you thought you had to do, Victoria,” Hector said firmly, ignoring the incredulous looks his family was giving him. Victoria’s death had been a touchy subject since her confession seven years ago, but everyone was always very clear on two things: first, she had made the wrong decision, but, second, they didn’t blame Victoria for her choice. But Hector ignored the unspoken rules, knowing they weren’t going to help Victoria, and probably never had. He wondered how long this breakdown had been coming, whether it was since Miguel’s song a few weeks ago, or seven years ago when she’d finally told her family that she’d chosen to die. He had a feeling, though, that it was neither of those, that these feelings had been building up for the last fifty years, since the day she had died, or even before that, since Imelda had died.

Only he and Imelda were familiar with living with such a heavy burden for so long, and Hector’s phantom heart ached for his granddaughter. Imelda knelt next to him, and her hand on his shoulder told him she understood, too.

“The family is all right, mija,” Imelda said, cautiously reaching forward to stroke Victoria’s face. “Everything is okay now.” She continued to murmur reassurances as Hector reached out and drew Victoria out of the corner and into his embrace. Victoria stiffened but didn't resist, and eventually she relaxed in his arms, still crying. Imelda rubbed Victoria’s back as she sobbed into Hector’s chest, clutching his shirt.

“I was so scared,” she said, her eyes squeezed shut. “I didn't want to die, I-but no one-”

“Sh, Viquita, sh, it’s all right,” Hector murmured, and Imelda wrapped her arms around both of them. The family watched, aching to help but not knowing how to, and after a while, Victoria’s sobs quieted to whimpers, and then to the occasional hiccup. She unclenched her hands and leaned away from her grandparents, who let her slip out of their embrace.

She seemed unable to look up at her family, she stared at the ground and plucked at stray threads on her skirt as everyone watched her. She cleared her throat.

“Perdoname,” she said quietly, pushing herself to her feet, and she was out the door before anyone could say anything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might write more about this, maybe not. I don't know yet.   
> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it :)


	13. Chapter 13

Victoria slammed the door behind her and sank back against it. The workshop was quiet, she didn’t hear anyone coming after her. She took a few deep breaths.

She couldn’t believe she had lost it like that, in front of everyone. They didn’t deserve to see her break down, they hadn’t done anything.

_ Exactly,  _ a voice whispered in her mind,  _ they never did anything.  _ Victoria shook the thought away.

She hoped they would leave her alone, at least for a few hours while she tried to figure out what to do, how to act now that she’d shown them her deepest feelings. She moved to push herself to her feet, then halted with a grunt. Her joints were aching again.

Over the last two weeks, aches and pains had been cropping up all over her body. She’d been ignoring them, along with the dizziness, fatigue, and shortness of breath she’d been hiding from her family. Shrugging off the deja vu that had been plaguing her for two weeks, Victoria forced herself to her feet. She swayed dangerously.

Suddenly she was somewhere else, a place where she had flesh and overwhelming responsibilities, where Elena was right outside the door and was sure to notice if she fainted again-

She stumbled to a chair and collapsed into it, shaking and gasping for breath. Staring at her skeletal hands, she forced herself to calm down even as panic rose inside her.

_ I’m dead,  _ she told herself forcefully.  _ I can’t die again. Be reasonable.  _ But this was abnormal, skeletons didn’t tend to have fainting spells. There was a phone in the workshop, and Victoria deliberated for a moment before standing up slowly and walking to it. The deja vu got stronger as she dialed the number, remembering despite her best efforts making a similar phone call fifty years ago.

“Hola, you’ve reached the office of Dr. Posada, my name is Melanie, how can I help you?”

\---

Skeleton doctors were different from living doctors, they worked in memory and superstition as much as in bones. Dr. Posada had treated Hector seven years ago, after his brush with the Final Death, but up until then he’d only assisted them with nicks, fractures, and only once a break. Victoria rolled her eyes as she sat in the waiting room, remembering that one of her tios’ many crazy experiments. Poor Rosita had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she’d had to wear a cast for weeks. Oscar and Felipe had fussed over her the entire time, apologizing every chance they got. It was an accident, Rosita reassured them, though to listen to Mama Imelda it had been attempted homicide.

“Victoria?” Victoria blinked, startled, and looked up at the doctor. He looked puzzled and slightly concerned to see her, and Victoria stood with a quickly-disguised wince and walked with him to his examination room. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked without preamble, and gestured to a chair. Victoria sat and crossed her arms before answering.

“Dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue,” she recited. She hesitated before adding, “It feels like the cancer.” Dr. Posada had been taking notes, but at her last comment his head snapped up.

“The cancer?” Victoria tightened her arms around herself.

“It feels like the cancer that killed me,” she said slowly. Dr. Posada glanced at his clipboard before laying it aside.

“Victoria, how long ago did you die?” She frowned at him, wondering why he would ask such a personal and seemingly unrelated question.

“I’ve been dead for fifty years,” she answered, and Dr. Posada nodded.

“This is quite common for people who died young. So, you know this world runs on memories.” Victoria nodded, everyone knew that. It was the first thing every skeleton was taught when they first crossed the bridge from the Land of the Living. “And that we are kept anchored here by the memories of those who knew us.”

“Si,” Victoria said with growing irritation.

“Well, usually, the kinds of memories people have of us don’t matter. Just the fact that they remember is enough.”

“But?” Victoria prompted.

“But,” he said, “sometimes, if a certain memory is strong enough, it starts to manifest in actions and feelings over here. For example, if someone in the Land of the Living was thinking night and day of your lovely singing voice, you would find yourself unable to refrain from bursting into song.” Victoria raised her brow at his example but kept silent. Seven years ago, he would never have dared to mention singing or anything related to it. “And so, you said you’ve been dead fifty years?” Victoria nodded. “Someone is remembering your death, vividly and almost constantly.” He leaned back in his chair. “It makes sense. The fifty-year mark is usually when relatives are getting older, have more time to dwell on memories.” Victoria looked down, hoping her sister, for it had to be Elena, wasn’t torturing herself with bad memories. “When is the actual date of your death?” Victoria looked up at the doctor.

“Four days from now.”

“That will probably be the worst day, I recommend you stay in bed and definitely don’t operate any heavy machinery,” Dr. Posada instructed. “The rest depends on whoever remembers you.” Victoria nodded. Elena wouldn’t dwell on her death past the actual day, just the weeks leading up to it. She would shake it off eventually. Victoria stood, managing to completely hide her wince this time and forcing herself not to think about how easy it was, how smoothly she was able to slip back into her old habits. Her mask was firmly back in place, leaving Victoria wondering if it had ever really been gone.

“Gracias, Doctor.” He blinked before standing and holding out his hand, startled by her abruptness.

“Of course, Victoria.” She turned to leave. She hadn’t told the family where she was going, and she hoped to get back before they noticed her absence. “Remember not to overdo it!” he called after her as she walked out.

Victoria stared at the floor on the trolley ride back home. She’d hidden cancer from her family before, and this time it wouldn’t even be life-threatening. But something squirmed in her phantom gut at the thought of keeping secrets from her family again. There was nothing at stake this time, no reason not to tell them, but her mind still shrank away from the concept. They would worry, what if they fussed and fretted for the next four days and them...nothing happened? She would probably be fine, she thought, there was no need to upset them.

Especially after that whole episode the other day, only Mama Imelda had even spoken to her since then. Everyone else had just looked miserable and avoided her, and she wasn’t surprised.

She was embarrassed, too.

Telling them she had cancer again, or at least the symptoms, would most likely push them off the edge. She could handle it alone.

She shook herself; her main concern now should be getting back inside without being noticed. She’d missed breakfast, if she went in through the back she could say she slept in. The trolley stopped at her station and Victoria got off, and ducked into an alley to avoid being seen walking up the road. The back door was creaky, but she managed to slip inside without making a noise. All that was left was to sneak upstairs and-

“Ahem.” Victoria froze, then slowly turned, trying to appear nonchalant. Mama Imelda was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her arms crossed. The whole family was behind her, looking confused and worried. Victoria’s eyes darted over their faces. They didn’t know, she was certain. They’d noticed her missing, but they didn’t know she’d been to the doctor.

“You missed breakfast, Victoria,” her mama said quietly, standing by Mama Imelda’s elbow. Victoria straightened, knowing she looked defensive.

“We checked your room,” Tia Rosita said, and Victoria bristled. No one was allowed in her room without her permission, they knew that. She scowled, and everyone except Mama and Mama Imelda shrank back.

“Where have you been?” Mama Imelda demanded, and Victoria looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

“Out,” she said. She sounded like a petulant teenager and she knew it. But she’d never been good at keeping her cool with so many eyes on her, except for the short time she’d been head of the family. She’d always just walked away in silence, then, and no one had dared oppose her. She’d had no time for discomfort or embarrassment, or emotions of any sort. Except anxiety, she’d had more than enough of that.

“We gathered that, mija,” Papa said timidly. It was the most he had spoken to her in days. “But where?”

“It’s not important,” Victoria insisted, glancing around for an escape. “I’m fine.” She winced, she’d given it away. Mama Imelda’s eyes narrowed.

“Of course you’re fine, Victoria,” she said in a dangerous voice. “How could we not know you’re fine? You only disappeared to who-knows-where for hours, we had no idea if you’d been hurt or-”

“Don’t you trust me to go to the doctor by myself?” Mama Imelda blinked, her anger immediately morphing into concern.

“The doctor? Dr. Posada?” Victoria groaned. She hadn’t intended to say this much, they weren’t even supposed to know she had been gone in the first place. “Victoria.” Victoria looked up at her. “Why did you go to the doctor?” Silence wouldn’t work now, she’d have to calm them down, if she didn’t say anything they’d no doubt convince themselves that she was somehow dying again. Which, she supposed, she sort of was, but that was beside the point.

“I am fine,” she said again. “I will be fine.” Mama’s eyes widened and Rosita gasped. Knowing that if she didn’t rein them in she’d have at least two full-blown panic attacks on her hands, Victoria racked her brain for an excuse, something that wouldn’t cause them to worry.

“I’ve been having-” She paused. “-symptoms. But,” she continued when Mama Imelda opened her mouth, “Dr. Posada says it’s normal and that it will go away.”

“When?” Hector asked, peering over Mama Imelda’s shoulder. “And what symptoms?” Victoria grit her teeth, frustrated with the questions. She would be fine, she had just told them, why did they need to know anything else?

“Soon,” she said through a clenched jaw. “And the symptoms aren’t important.” They certainly didn’t like  _ that,  _ immediately they were all talking over each other, demanding explanations.

“Cancer!” she eventually shouted to get them to shut up. “It’s like I have the cancer again. Posada said Elena’s remembering my death a lot and it’s manifesting over here, but  _ I will be fine!  _ It will go away.” The family stared at her, shocked.

“You-you feel the way you felt when you were alive?” Rosita asked quietly, and Victoria frowned at her, confused.

“Si. It’s only been a few weeks, and it’ll be over soon.” For some reason, everyone except Hector and Mama Imelda looked completely devastated, Mama especially.

“Weeks?” she said hoarsely. “You’ve been feeling sick for weeks?” In a flash of understanding, Victoria knew why they all looked so heartbroken, and fought the urge to groan and roll her eyes.

“Mama-”

“We missed it?  _ Again? _ ”

“I hid it again, Mama,” Victoria snapped, crossing her arms. “It isn’t your fault.” Mama clamped her mouth shut, her eyes watering. “Mama, please. At first I didn't even think it was anything, just-” She paused. She hadn't known  _ what _ it was, but she had known what it felt like. It would be a lie to say she hadn't even been a little scared, just for a few minutes before reality sunk in that she was dead, cancer couldn't hurt her anymore. “I’m fine.”

“What are-”

“-the symptoms?” Victoria grimaced.

“It’s not-”

“Victoria.” Victoria glanced down at her papa and sighed.

“Just dizziness, fatigue, aching joints, it’s like having the flu.”

“That’s all?” Rosita asked, and Victoria pursed her lips.

“Mostly.” Mama Imelda crossed her arms. “That’s everything important.”

“We’ll decide what's important, Victoria. What else is there?”

“It didn't even happen, really, I sat down and I was fine.” Mama Imelda raised her brow. “When I was alive I fainted sometimes but-” No, not now, please. She fought the sudden dizziness and tried not to sway where she stood. “But that hasn't-hasn't happened-excuse-” She tried to press through her family, stumbling and clutching her head, but they remained firm and didn't let her by. They seemed determined to talk to her, to keep her from running away. Bad time. Bad place. Bad idea, in general, talking to her, hadn’t she shown that with Rosita? “Please-” It wasn't a matter of ‘if' now, but of ‘when'. She needed a place to fall, she wanted to get to the sofa, but her papa grabbed her arm and the others formed a barrier. She couldn't see anything, the darkness had swarmed over her vision, and her papa’s hand was all tethering her to reality. But she was fading fast, she just wanted to sit down…

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know, she was old-ish in her picture, but who cares? Thanks for reading, please leave a comment!


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